THE    KING'S    MEN. 


THE    KING'S    MEN 


A    TALE    OF    TO-MORROW 


ROBERT   GRANT 

JOHN    60YLE   O'REILLY 
J.    S.    OF   DALE   AND 

JOHN   T.  WHEELWRIGHT 


1  All  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men 
Couldn't  put  Humpty  Dumpty  up  again." 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S     SONS 
1884 


COPYRIGHT,  1884,  BY 
ROBERT    GRANT. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  RIPON  HOUSE, .  x 

II.  RICHARD  LINCOLN, 8 

III.  MY  LADY'S  CHAMBER, 19 

IV.  JARLEY  JAWKINS, 32 

V.  "JAWKINS'S  JOLLITIES," 46 

VI.  THE  ROYALISTS, 67 

VII.    A    FOUR-IN-HAND    AND    ONE   IN   THE   BUSH,         .       .  85 

VIII.  SPRET^E  INJURIA  FORM/E, 97 

IX.  "THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE," no 

X.  KING  GEORGE  THE  FIFTH, 124 

XI.  THE  RAISING  OF  THE  FLAG, 147 

XII.  IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH, 161 

XIII.  AN  UNFINISHED  TASK 174 

XIV.  THE  LAST  ROYALIST, 180 

XV.  LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS, 193 

XVI.  MRS.  CAREY'S  HUSBAND, 215 

XVII.  AT  THE  COURT  OF  ST.  JAMES, 225 

XVIII.  Two  CARDS  PLAYED, 243 

XIX.  A  WOMAN'S  END, 252 

XX.  "  FROM  CHAIN  TO  CHAIN," 258 

XXI.  NULLA  VESTIGIA  RETRORSUM 265 


THE    KING'S    MEN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

RIPON    HOUSE. 

THERE  are  few  Americans  who  went  to  England  before 
the  late  wars  but  will  remember  Ripon  House.  The  curi 
ous  student  of  history — a  study,  perhaps,  too  little  in  vogue 
with  us — could  find  no  better  example  of  the  palace  of  an 
old  feudal  lord.  Dating  almost  from  the  time  of  the  first 
George — and  some  even  say  it  was  built  by  the  same  Wren 
who  designed  that  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  whose  ruins  we 
may  still  see  to  the  east  of  London — it  frowned  upon  the 
miles  of  private  park  surrounding  it,  a  marble  memorial  of 
feudal  monopoly  and  man's  selfish  greed.  The  very  land 
about  it,  to  an  extent  of  almost  half  a  county,  was  owned 
by  the  owners  of  the  castle,  and  by  them  rented  out  upon 
an  annual  payment  to  such  farmers  as  they  chose  to  favor 
with  a  chance  to  earn  their  bread. 

In  an  ancient  room  of  a  still  older  house  which  stands 
some  two  miles  from  the  castle,  and  had  formerly  been 
merely  the  gatekeeper's  lodge  (though  large  enough  for 


2  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

several  families),  a  young  man  was  sitting,  one  late  after 
noon  in  early  November.  The  room  was  warmed  by  a 
fire,  in  the  old  fashion  ;  and  the  young  man  was  gloomily 
plunging  the  poker  into  the  coals,  breaking  them  into  oily 
flakes  which  sent  out  fierce  flickerings  as  they  burned 
away.  He  was  dressed  in  a  rough  shooting  suit  of  blue 
velveteen,  and  his  heavy  American  shoes  were  crusted  with 
mud.  His  handsome,  boyish  face  wore  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety;  and  his  hands  seemed  to  minister  to  the 
troubles1,  of  -'hid  .'meditation  by  tumbling  his  hair  about  the 
contracted  forehead,  while  his  lips  closed  about  a  short 
brier-wood  pipe/of  a  kind  only  used  by  men.  The  pipe 
had  gone  out,  unnoticed  by  the  smoker  ;  and  he  did  not 
seem  to  mind  the  fierce  heat  thrown  out  by  the  broken 
coals.  Above  the  mantel  was  the  portrait  of  a  gentleman 
in  the  quaint  costume  of  the  latter  Victorian  age  ;  the  ab 
surd  starched  collar  and  shirt,  the  insignificant  cravat,  the 
trousers  reaching  to  the  ankles,  and  the  coat  and  waistcoat 
of  black  cloth  and  fantastic  cut,  familiar  to  the  readers  of 
the  London  Punch.  This  antedated  worthy  looked  out 
from  the  canvas  upon  the  room  -as  if  he  owned  it ;  and  the 
mullioned  windows  and  carved  oak  wainscoting  justified 
his  claim,  even  to  the  very  books  in  the  bookcases,  which 
showed  an  antiquarian  taste.  Here  were  the  strange  old- 
fashioned  satires  of  Thackeray  and  the  more  modern 
romances  of  the  humorist  Dickens  ;  the  crude  speculations 
of  the  philosopher  Spencer,  and  the  one-sided,  aristocratic 
economies  of  Malthus  and  Mill ;  with  the  feeble  rhymes  of 
Lord  Tennyson  d'Eyncourt,  which  men,  in  a  time-serving 
age,  called  poetry. 

Geoffrey  Ripon  had  come  to  his  last  legs.     And  he  was 
one  of  the  few  aristocrats  of  his  generation  who  had  ever 


RIP  ON  HOUSE.  3 

(metaphorically  speaking)  had  any  legs  worth  considering. 
When  O'  Donovan  Rourke  had  been  President  of  the  Brit 
ish  Republic,  that  good-natured  Irishman,  who  had  been 
at  school  with  Ripon's  father,  had  given  him  a  position  in 
the  legation  at  Paris  ;  but  when  the  Radicals  overthrew 
Rourke's  government,  Ripon  lost  his  place.  And  Ripon 
could  not  but  think  it  hard  that  he,  Geoffrey  Ripon,  by  all 
right  and  law  Earl  of  Brompton,  Viscount  Mapledurham 
in  the  peerage  of  Ireland,  etc.,  etc.,  should  that  afternoon 
have  been  fined  ten  shillings  and  costs  for  poaching  on 
what  had  been  his  own  domain. 

His  great-uncle  looked  down  upon  him  with  that  exas 
perating  equanimity  that  only  a  canvas  immortality  can 
give — his  great-uncle  who  fell  on  the  field  of  Tel-el-Kebir, 
dead  as  if  the  Arab  bullet  had  sped  from  a  worthier  foe,  in 
the  days  when  England  had  a  foreign  policy  and  could 
spare  her  soldiers  from  the  coast  defence.  And  his  grand 
father,  who  smirked  from  another  coroneted  frame  behind 
him,  had  been  a  great  leader  in  the  Liberal  party  under 
Gladstone,  Lord  Liverpool,  the  grand  old  man  who  stole 
Beaconsfield's  thunder  to  guard  the  Suez  Canal,  that  road 
to  India  which  he,  like  another  Moses,  had  made  for  their 
proud  legions  through  the  Red  Sea. 

And  now  Ripon  was  living  in  his  porter's  lodge,  all  that 
was  still  his  of  the  great  Ripon  estates,  with  his  empty  title 
left  him,  minus  the  robes  and  coronet  no  longer  worn  ; 
and  his  King,  George  the  Fifth,  an  exile,  wandering  with 
his  semblance  of  a  court  in  foreign  lands. 

The  world  moves  quickly  as  it  grows  older,  with  an  ac 
celerated  velocity,  like  that  of  a  falling  stone  ;  and  it  is 
hard  for  us  of  the  present  day  to  picture  the  England  of 
King  Albert  Edward.  The  restlessness  and  poverty  of  the 


4  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

masses  ;  the  agitations  in  Ireland,  feebly,  blindly  protesting 
with  dynamite  and  other  rude  weapons  against  foreign 
oppression  ;  the  shameful  monopoly  of  land,  the  social 
haughtiness  of  the  titled  classes,  the  luxury  and  profligacy 
of  the  court— perhaps  even  at  the  opening  of  our  story, 
poor  England  was  hardly  worse  off.  But  then  came  the 
change.  Gradually  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  country 
sought  refuge  in  emigration.  The  titled  classes,  after  mort 
gage  upon  mortgage  of  their  valueless  land,  were  forced  to 
break  their  entails  to  sell  their  estates.  And  at  last,  when 
the  great  American  Republic,  in  1889,  cut  down  the  Chi 
nese  wall  of  protection,  which  so  long  had  surrounded  their 
country,  even  trade  succumbed,  and  England  was  under 
sold  in  the  markets  of  the  world.  Then  retrenchment  was 
the  cry  ;  universal  suffrage  elected  a  parliament  which  lit 
erally  cut  off  the  royal  princes  with  a  shilling  ;  and  the 
Premier  Bradlaugh  swamped  the  House  of  Lords  by  the 
creation  of  a  battalion  of  life  peers,  who  abolished  the 
hereditary  House  and  established  an  elective  Senate.  It 
was  easy  then  to  call  a  constitutional  convention,  declare 
the  sovereign  but  the  servant  and  figure-head  of  the  people, 
confiscate  the  royal  estates  and  vote  King  Albert  a  salary  of 
^10,000  a  year. 

Then  Russia  took  advantage  of  the  great  struggle 
between  Germany  and  France  to  seize  India,  and  after  the 
terrible  defeat  at  Cyprus  and  the  siege  of  Calcutta  the  old 
King  of  England  abdicated  in  favor  of  his  grandson  George. 
But  the  people  clamored  for  an  elective  President,  and  it 
was  nigh  twenty  years  before  the  opening  of  our  story  that 
King  George  had  been  forced  to  seek  his  only  safe  refuge 
in  America. 

Thus  it  was  that  Geoffrey  Ripon  had  come  to  depend  on 


RIP  ON  HOUSE.  5 

poaching  and  the  garden  stuff  his  old  servant  managed  to 
raise  in  the  two-acre  lot  surrounding  the  lodge.  Almost 
the  only  modern  things  in  his  room  were  the  guns  and 
fishing  tackle  in  the  corners  and  the  electric  battery  for 
charging  the  cartridges  ;  and  now  he  was  judicially  in 
formed  that  he  must  poach  no  more,  the  mortgage  had 
been  finally  foreclosed,  and  he  looked  out  of  his  window 
upon  lands  no  longer  his  even  in  name.  It  is  a  sad  thing 
to  be  ruined,  and  if  ever  man  was  ruined  beyond  all  hope, 
Geoffrey  Ripon,  Earl  of  Brompton,  was  the  man  ;  it  is 
hard  to  feel  you  are  the  last  of  your  race,  that  you  are 
almost  an  outlaw  in  your  own  land — and  Ripon's  king, 
George  the  Fifth,  was  suffered  to  play  out  his  idle  play  of 
royal  state,  in  Boston,  Massachusetts.  Ripon  had  never 
been  in  America.  He  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  fire, 
as  it  gave  out  a  heat  too  great  for  any  man  to  stand.  He 
walked  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  upon  the 
long  perspective  of  elms,  where  the  avenue  stretched  away 
in  the  direction  of  Ripon  House.  As  his  eye  wandered 
over  the  broad  view  of  park  and  forest,  a  carriage,  drawn 
by  four  horses,  insolent  in  the  splendor  of  its  trappings, 
rolled  toward  him  from  the  castle.  In  that  moment  it 
seemed  to  Ripon  that  he  felt  all  the  bitterness  of  hatred  and 
envy  that  might  have  rankled  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  poor 
wayfarers  who  had  in  eight  hundred  years  peered  through 
the  park  gate  and  looked  at  those  broad  acres  that  his  race 
so  long  had  held.  The  carriage  rolled  swiftly  by  him, 
with  a  glitter  of  silver  harness  and  liveries  ;  on  one  seat 
were  an  elderly  man  and  a  young  girl.  As  he  saw  her  face 
Ripon  started  in  surprise.  Then,  after  a  moment,  he 
walked  to  the  table  and  filled  his  pipe. 

"  Bah  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  cannot  be  possible." 


6  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Again  he  threw  himself  on  a  chair  by  the  fireplace,  and 
tried  to  read  the  Saturday  Review.  There  was  a  long 
leader  against  Richard  Lincoln  ;  but  as  Lincoln  was  the 
one  member  in  the  House  for  whom  Geoffrey  had  any  re 
spect,  he  threw  it  aside  in  disgust.  He  heard  a  timid 
knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  !"  growled  Geoffrey,  as  he  turned  to  light 
his  pipe. 

An  old  family  servant,  the  last  survivor  of  an  extinct 
race,  entered  with  a  battered  silver  tray. 

"  Please,  my  lord,  a  letter  from  the  persons  at  the 
castle  ;  one  of  them  is  waiting  for  an  answer. ' ' 

Reynolds  made  no  distinction  between  the  ' '  persons  at 
the  castle"  and  their  servants  ;  and  he  always  called  it  the 
castle,  now  that  Ripon  House  was  the  gatekeeper's  lodge. 

"  I  suppose/'  grunted  Geoffrey,  as  he  took  the  letter, 
* '  they  want  to  warn  me  against  poaching.  So  considerate, 
after  I  have  been  fined  ten  shillings  by  their  gamekeeper. ' ' 

To  his  surprise  the  letter  had  a  familiar  look  ;  it  was  ad 
dressed  to  him  by  his  title  in  the  ancient  fashion,  and  was 
in  a  handwriting  which  he  thought  he  should  have  known 
in  Paris.  Tearing  open  the  envelope,  he  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  LORD  BROMPTON  :  I  hear  that  you  are  back  to 
your  own  estate,  and  you  will  doubtless  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
I  am  so  near  you.  Papa  telephoned  over  last  week  for  an  estate, 
and  here  we  are,  with  a  complete  retinue  of  servants  and  a  gal 
lery  of  ancestors — yours,  by  the  way,  as  I  found  to  my  surprise. 
I  felt  so  sorry  when  they  called  you  back  from  Paris  ;  I  had  no 
idea  I  should  see  you  again  so  soon.  Papa  wanted  to  look  after 
his  affairs  in  England  ;  so  we  have  come  over  again  for  the  win 
ter,  and  I  was  delighted  to  get  out  of  the  wild  gayety  of  America 
for  this  dear  sleepy  old  country. 

"  If  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  will  you  dine  with  us  to- 


RIP  ON  HOUSE.  7 

morrow  night  ?    Do  not  stay  away  because  we  are  in  your  old 
family  house.     We  have  no  such  feelings  in  America,  you  know. 
Richard  Lincoln  will  be  here,  and  Sir  John  Dacre.     Do  you  know 
Sir  John  ?     I  admire  him  immensely,  you  must  know. 
"  Sincerely  yours, 

"  MARGARET  WINDSOR." 

"P.  S.  The  new  minister  and  legation  are  not  received  in 
society.  We  missed  you  so  much. " 

' '  Maggie  Windsor  over  here, ' '  thought  Ripon,  ' '  with 
that  curious  old  father  of  hers,  taking  Ripon  House  as  if 
it  were  furnished  lodgings. ' '  And  he  thought  of  the  old 
house  and  of  his  great-uncle  who  fell  at  Tel-el-Kebir,  and 
of  King  George  over  the  sea  in  America.  But  he  said  to 
himself  that  Maggie  Windsor  was  a  nice  girl,  as  he  put  out 
his  pipe  and  went  out  into  the  park  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER  II. 

RICHARD    LINCOLN. 

THE  palace  of  a  thousand  wings,  that  nearly  two  thou 
sand  years  had  gone  to  build,  had  been  tumbled  into  ruins 
in  a  day,  and  out  of  the  monstrous  confusion  no  fair  struct 
ure  had  yet  arisen. 

Rich  as  a  crimson  sunset,  with  traditions  splendid  as 
sunlit  clouds,  English  Royalty  had  sunk  into  the  night, 
and  the  whole  sky  was  lightless,  except  where  the  glory  had 
descended. 

The  government  which  had  lifted  itself  like  a  tower  in 
the  eyes  and  minds  of  Englishmen  for  a  hundred  genera 
tions  had  disappeared,  and  the  ideal  government  of  the 
people  had  not  yet  filled  its  place. 

The  British  Republic  was  seventeen  years  old.  For  sev 
enteen  years  King  George  the  Fifth  had  been  an  exile  in 
the  United  States,  and  the  fifty  millions  of  British  people 
had  been  on  trial  as  self-governors. 

Providence  had  smiled  on  the  young  Republic.  Its  first 
guardians  had  been  true  to  their  trust ;  and  like  the  fathers 
who  laid  the  deep  foundations  of  American  freedom,  their 
souls  expanded  with  the  magnitude  of  duty  and  responsi 
bility. 

The  world  looked  on,  sympathized,  but  for  weeks  and 


RICHARD  LINCOLN.  9 

months  almost  feared  to  speak.     But  half  a  year  passed, 
and  the  dreadful  crest  of  Anarchy  had  not  once  been  raised. 

The  French  Republic,  over  seventy  years  old,  strong, 
unenvious  and  equitable,  was  the  first  to  applaud. 

The  Commonwealths  of  Germany,  thirty-three  years  old, 
one  after  another  spoke  their  congratulation. 

The  aristocratic  Republic  of  Russia  was  officially  silent. 
The  noble  Nihilists,  who  had  murdered  four  Czars  to  ob 
tain  power,  were  now  constitutionally  terrorizing  the 
masses  ;  but  the  Russian  people  had  learned  from  their 
rulers,  and  the  popular  press  thundered  encouragement  to 
the  English  Commons. 

America  smiled  like  an  elder  sister,  and  held  out  her 
hand  in  loving  friendship. 

From  the  day  of  the  revolution,  the  three  names  which 
forever  belong  to  the  history  of  British  Republicanism  were 
in  the  front — O'  Donovan  Rourke,  the  first  President,  and 
his  two  famous  Ministers,  Jonathan  Simms  and  Richard 
Lincoln. 

But  the  story  of  that  first  great  Administration  is  read 
now  in  the  school-books.  The  sudden  death  of  the  Presi 
dent  was  the  first  serious  loss  of  the  Republic.  Had  he 
lived  another  decade  how  different  would  have  been  the 
later  history  of  England  ! 

Matthew  Gower,  the  Vice- President,  entered  on  the  un- 
expired  term  of  the  Presidency.  He  was  a  weak,  well- 
meaning  man,  and  he  was  jealous  of  the  extraordinary  pop 
ularity  and  personal  influence  of  Richard  Lincoln,  the 
Secretary  of  State.  When  his  cabinet  was  announced, 
Richard  Lincoln,  released  from  his  long  service  in  harness, 
with  a  deep  feeling  of  relief,  went  back  to  his  home  in 
Nottingham. 


io  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

At  this  time  he  was  forty-six  years  of  age.  He  had  been 
a  widower  for  over  twenty  years.  At  twenty-five  he  had 
married  the  beautiful  girl  he  loved,  and  within  the  year  his 
wife  died,  leaving  the  lonely  man  a  little  daughter  whose 
eyes  renewed  his  grief  and  love. 

This  was  the  tall  girl  who  flung  her  arms  round  the  neck 
of  the  dismissed  minister  when  he  entered  his  home  at 
Nottingham. 

"  No  one  else,  papa  !"  she  cried,  as  she  buried  her  face 
against  his  heart,  sobbing  with  joy.  "  Do  not  speak  to 
any  one  else  till  I  am  done  with  you." 

The  rest,  the  love,  the  peace  of  home  were  very  sweet. 
Richard  Lincoln  renewed,  or  tried  to  renew,  his  interest  in 
the  work  of  his  younger  days.  His  daughter  loved  to  go 
with  him  through  the  town,  proud  of  the  famous  man  who 
was  hers,  heedful  of  any  curious  or  respectful  glance  of  the 
people  on  the  street. 

He  gave  himself  up  to  the  new  life.  He  began  to 
wonder  at  and  enjoy  the  beauty,  accomplishments  and  un 
ceasing  amiability  of  his  daughter. 

Mary  Lincoln  was  a  rare  type  of  womanhood.  She  had 
inherited  her  mother's  grace  and  lithe  beauty  of  form,  and 
from  her  father  she  took  a  strong  and  self-sustained  nature. 
But  there  was  added  a  quality  that  was  hers  alone — a 
strange,  silent  power  of  enthusiasm — a  fervor  that  did  not 
cry  out  for  ideals,  but  filled  all  her  blood  with  a  deep 
music  of  devotion.  A  man  with  such  a  nature  had  been  a 
poet  or  the  founder  of  a  creed.  But  the  ideal  of  a  man  is 
an  idea,  while  the  ideal  of  a  woman  is  a  man.  Time 
alone  can  bring  the  touchstone  to  such  a  heart. 

It  was  not  strange  that  under  such  home  influences 
public  affairs  should  sink  into  a  secondary  place  in  Rich- 


RICHARD  LINCOLN.  u 

ard  Lincoln's  mind.  He  hardly  looked  at  the  news 
papers,  and  he  never  expressed  political  opinions  or  pre 
dictions.  When  he  did  speak  of  the  government,  it  was 
with  confidence  and  respect.  If  he  doubted  or  distrusted, 
no  one  knew. 

For  two  years  he  had  lived  this  quiet  life  ;  but,  though 
he  turned  his  eyes  from  many  signs,  the  astute  and  silent 
man  saw  danger  growing  like  a  malarial  weed  beneath  the 
waters  of  the  social  and  political  life  of  his  country. 

One  morning  Patterson,  his  business  partner,  who  was 
an  excitable  politician,  threw  down  his  Times,  and  turned 
to  Lincoln  with  an  impatient  manner. 

"  We  are  going  to  smash,  sir,  with  our  eyes  open.  We 
are  going  to  the  devil  on  two  roads." 

"  Who  is  going  to  smash  ?"  asked  Lincoln. 

"  The  country.  See  here  ;  there  are  two  rocks  ahead, 
the  aristocrats  and  the  demagogues,  and  which  is  worse  no 
one  can  say.  They  are  getting  ready  for  something  or 
other,  and  the  good  sense  and  patriotism  of  England  stand 
by  and  do  nothing." 

"  Has  anything  particular  happened  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  at  West  Derby  yesterday,  the  Duke  of  Bays- 
water  was  elected  to  Parliament,  getting  a  large  majority 
over  Tyler,  a  sound  Republican. ' ' 

11  Pooh  !  You  don't  take  that  as  a  specimen  of  all  our 
elections  ?  The  Derby  voters  are  mainly  farmers,  and  the 
farmers  retain  their  old  respect  for  the  lords  of  the 
manor. ' ' 

"  And  that  means  something,"  rejoined  Patterson  ;  "it 
is  not  as  if  those  aristocrats  had  accepted  the  Republic, 
which  they  don't  even  pretend  to  do.  There  are  now  over 
forty  of  them  in  the  lower  house." 


12  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  ex-Minister,  "  they  have  been 
elected  by  the  people." 

"Yes;  by  the  uninstructed  people,"  said  Patterson, 
warmly.  "  The  people  are  talked  to  by  these  fellows  with 
empty  titles  on  one  hand  and  by  the  demagogues  on  the 
other,  and  they  think  the  only  choice  lies  between  the  two. ' ' 

'  *  Surely,  papa, ' '  said  Mary,  who  was  interested  in  the 
conversation,  "  the  people  will  not  be  so  easily  deceived  ?" 

"Deceived!"  interrupted  Mr.  Patterson.  "Why, 
Mary,  here  was  an  election  in  which  the  people  were  led  to 
vote  against  one  of  the  best  Republicans  in  England,  and 
for  a  lord  who  is  nearly  seventy,  who  has  never  done  any 
good  for  himself  or  the  country — an  old  pauper,  who  goes 
to  Parliament  for  the  salary  and  the  chance  to  plot  against 
the  people." 

Mary  looked  at  her  father  as  if  she  wished  him  to  speak. 

"  These  men,"  he  said,  "  do  not  regain  power  as  lords, 
but  as  commoners.  That  is  good,  instead  of  bad — their 
withdrawal  would  be  more  dangerous.  We  must  remem 
ber  that  those  who  have  lost  by  the  revolution  are  still  as 
much  a  part  of  the  English  people  as  those  who  have 
gained. ' ' 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Patterson,  stubbornly. 
1 '  I  believe  those  aristocrats  are  actually  plotting  treason  ; 
and  a  traitor  separates  himself  from  his  people." 

Richard  Lincoln's  silence  only  stirred  up  the  old  Radical. 
He  shot  home  next  time. 

"  I  believe  we  shall  have  a  lord  returned  for  Nottingham 
next  election." 

A  slow  flush  rose  in  Lincoln's  face,  and  he  uncon 
sciously  raised  his  head. 

"  For  the  last  two  years,"  continued  Patterson,   seeing 


RICHARD  LINCOLN.  13 

the  effect  of  his  words,  ' '  only  two  Englishmen  have  been 
heard  of  to  any  extent — the  demagogue  leader,  Bagshaw, 
and  Sir  John  Dacre,  the  insolent  young  leader  of  the  aris 
tocrats.  ' ' 

This  time  it  was  the  daughter  that  flushed  at  Mr.  Patter 
son's  words. 

"  Mr.  Dacre  is  not  insolent,"  said  Mary,  warmly.  *'  I 
have  met  him  several  times.  He  is  a  most  remarkable 
man." 

"  He  couldn't  well  be  insolent  to  you,  Mary,"  the  wily 
Patterson  answered,  with  a  smile  for  his  favorite,  who  usu 
ally  agreed  with  his  radicalism,  "  but  his  tone  to  the  pub 
lic  is  a  different  thing." 

' '  You  extremists  are  at  least  responsible  for  one  of  these 
—for  the  demagogue — "  said  Richard  Lincoln. 

"  Yes  ;  I  admit  it.  The  election  of  Bagshaw  for  Liver 
pool  was  a  terrible  mistake.  But,  if  we  had  had  our  way, 
the  other  evil  should  have  lost  its  head — O,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mary  ;  I  did  not  mean  your  friend,  Mr.  Dacre, 
but  the  principle  he  represents." 

Mary  Lincoln  had  exclaimed  as  if  shocked,  which 
brought  out  the  concluding  words  from  Mr.  Patterson. 

"  If  one  were  gone,  would  not  the  danger  be  greater  ?" 
asked  Richard  Lincoln.  "  They  keep  each  other  in  check. 
They  are  useful  enemies." 

11  Take  care  they  don't  some  day  turn  round  and  be 
useful  friends,"  retorted  Patterson.  "I  believe  they  did 
so  in  Derby  yesterday.  If  they  were  to  do  it  in  Notting 
ham  they  would  sweep  the  city." 

Mr.  Patterson  had  scored  his  mark.  The  ex-Minister 
was  silent  and  thoughtful. 

"  The  Republic  is  like  an  iceberg,"  he  said  presently, 


14  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"a  dozen  years  above  water,  but  a  century  below.  We 
shall  be  able  to  handle  our  difficulties — Don't  you  think 
so,  Mary?"  he  added  lightly,  as  they  went  out. 

"  Papa,"  said  Mary,  as  they  walked  across  the  main 
street,  "  I  met  Sir  John  Dacre  at  Arundel  House  when  I 
was  visiting  Lucy  Arundel  last  year,  and  I  can  assure  you 
he  is  not  an  evil-minded  man." 

"  Indeed  !"  answered  the  father,  rather  amused  at  the 
relation  ;  "  you  like  him,  then  ?" 

"  Very  much,  indeed.  He  is  a  perfect  old-fashioned 
cavalier,  and  the  most  distinguished-looking  man  I  ever 
saw,  except  you. ' ' 

Her  father  laughed  at  the  unconscious  flattery. 

"  And  the  very  oldest  men  are  constantly  consulting 
him,"  continued  Mary,  who  was  on  a  subject  which  evi 
dently  interested  her. 

There  was  something  in  Mary's  voice  that  made  her 
father  glance  down  at  her  face.  But  he  did  not  pursue  the 
subject. 

The  months  rolled  on  in  this  unrestful  peace,  and  day 
by  day  it  grew  clear  that  the  internal  troubles  of  the  Re 
public  were  forming  a  dangerous  congestion. 

Richard  Lincoln  again  became  an  attentive  reader  of  the 
newspapers.  No  man  in  England  studied  more  carefully 
the  signs  of  the  times.  Daily,  too,  he  listened  to  the  de 
nunciation  of  the  aristocrats  by  his  radical  old  friend. 

"  They  ought  to  be  banished  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Patter 
son,  one  morning.  "  I  said  it  would  come  to  this." 

He  pointed  to  an  announcement  of  a  meeting  of  ' '  gen 
tlemen  who  still  retained  respect  for  their  Sacred  Cause," 
to  be  held  at  Arundel  House  the  following  week,  the  word 
ing  of  which  was  rather  vague,  as  if  intended  to  convey 


RICHARD  LINCOLN.  15 

more  than  the  verbal  meaning.  The  notice  was  signed  : 
"John  Dacre,  Bart." 

"Why,  that  is  Mary's  friend/'  thought  Richard  Lin 
coln.  And  when  he  met  Mary,  an  hour  later,  he  said, 
half- jestingly  : 

"  Is  your  friend,  Mr.  Dacre,  a  conspirator  ?" 

"  He  is  only  an  acquaintance,  papa  ;  and  I  hardly  know 
what  a  conspirator  is.  But  Mr.  Dacre  is  certainly  nothing 
wrong.  You  should  see  his  face,  papa." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  those  dreamers — " 

"Papa!"  said  Mary,  almost  angrily,  "Mr.  Dacre  is 
not  a  dreamer.  He  is  a  leader  of  men — a  natural  leader — 
like  you  !" 

The  eloquence  of  voice  and  gesture  surprised  Richard 
Lincoln;  but  he  was  too  puzzled  by  Mary's  manner  to 
reply.  Looking  at  her  as  if  from  a  distance,  he  only  re 
membered,  sadly,  how  little  of  her  life  he  had  seen — how 
much  there  was  from  which  he  had  been  left  out  in  the 
heart  of  his  motherless  girl. 

Mary  read  something  in  his  eyes  that  made  her  run  to 
him  and  fold  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  You  were  thinking  of  mamma  then,"  she  whispered, 
with  brimming  eyes. 

'  *  Your  face  was  like  hers,  Mary, ' '  he  said,  and  kissed 
her  tenderly. 

In  the  growing  excitement  of  the  times,  father  and 
daughter  were  growing  daily  into  closer  union.  The  Par 
liamentary  elections  were  coming  on,  and  Richard  Lincoln 
took  a  deep  interest  in  the  preparations.  He  had  been 
asked  to  stand  for  several  places,  but  he  had  firmly  de 
clined  ;  nevertheless  he  had  become  almost  a  public  char 
acter  during  the  campaign.  From  all  sides  men  looked  to 


1 6  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

him  for  counsel.  His  correspondence  became  burden 
some,  and  Mary,  having  urged  him  long  to  let  her  help,  at 
last  had  her  way. 

In  this  way  it  was  that  she  became  familiar  with  the 
troubled  issues  of  the  time,  and  learned  to  think  with  her 
father  in  all  his  moods.  Their  house  in  Nottingham,  with 
comings  and  goings,  committees  and  councils,  was  soon 
like  the  office  of  a  great  Minister. 

"This  can't  last,"  said  Mr.  Patterson  to  Mary  Lin 
coln,  one  day;  "he  is  needed  in  London  again,  and 
he  will  go.  I  believe  they  mean  to  nominate  him  for 
President." 

Two  days  later,  Patterson,  with  all  the  rest  of  England, 
was  allowed  to  see  the  secret  that  had  moved  the  political 
sea  for  years. 

The  National  Convention  was  held  to  nominate  the 
President.  The  Radical  wing  (they  were  proud  to  call 
themselves  anarchists)  had  developed  unlooked-for  strength, 
chiefly  from  the  cities  and  great  towns,  and  had  put  for 
ward  as  their  candidate  the  blatant  demagogue,  Lemuel 
Bagshaw,  whose  name  has  left  so  deep  a  stain  on  his 
country's  record. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  National  Convention  the  news  of 
Bagshaw' s  strength  caused  only  a  pained  surprise  through 
out  England.  Men  awaited  with  some  irritation  the  proper 
work  of  the  Convention.  But  on  the  second  day,  when 
the  two  strongest  opposing  candidates  did  not  together 
count  as  many  votes  as  the  .demagogue,  there  was  down 
right  consternation. 

Then  the  Aristocrats  showed  their  hand  :  they  aban 
doned  their  sham  candidate  and  voted  solidly  for  the  dem 
agogue — and  Lemuel  Bagshaw,  the  atheist  and  anarchist, 


RICHARD  LINCOLN.  17 

received  the  nomination  for  the  Presidency  of  the  British 
Republic  ! 

The  ship  was  fairly  among  the  shoals  and  the  horizon 
was  ridged  with  ominous  clouds.  The  petrels  of  disorder 
were  everywhere  on  the  wing.  The  Republic  was  driving 
straight  into  the  breakers. 

A  few  days  later  a  great  meeting  was  held  in  Notting 
ham,  at  which  a  workingman  proposed  the  name  of  Rich 
ard  Lincoln  as  their  representative  in  Parliament. 

A  great  shout  of  acclamation  greeted  the  name  and 
spoke  for  all  Nottingham.  Then  the  meeting  broke  up, 
the  crowd  hurrying  and  pressing  toward  Richard  Lincoln's 
house. 

Mary  Lincoln  heard  the  growing  tumult,  and  looked  up 
at  her  father  alarmed.  She  had  been  playing  softly  on 
an  organ  in  the  dimly-lighted  room,  while  her  father  sat 
thinking  and  half  listening  to  the  low  music,  as  he  gazed 
into  the  fire. 

He  had  heard  the  crowd  gathering  in  the  square  below, 
but  he  had  not  heeded,  till  he  started  at  last  as  a  voice  out 
side  addressed  the  multitude,  calling  for  three  cheers  for 
the  Member  of  Parliament  for  Nottingham.  The  response, 
ringing  from  thousands  of  hearts,  made  Mary  Lincoln  leap 
to  her  feet. 

Her  father  sat  still,  looking  toward  the  open  window 
beneath  which  was  the  tumult. 

"  Father,"  said  Mary,  calling  him  so  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life ;  ' '  they  have  nominated  you.  You  will  not 
refuse?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  almost  mournfully.  "  I  shall  accept 
— and  leave  you  again." 

"Never  again/'   she  cried,  "my  own  dear  father.     I 


1 8  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

shall  go  with  you  to  London.  Oh,  I  am  so  proud  of 
you  !" 

And  Richard  Lincoln  accepted  the  nomination,  and  was 
elected.  His  name  rallied  throughout  the  whole  country 
the  men  who  had  its  good  at  heart. 

But  the  demagogue  was  raised  to  the  highest  place  in  the 
Republic,  and  his  party  would  have  grown  drunken  with 
exultation  had  they  not  been  deterred  by  the  solid  front 
and  the  stern  character  of  the  opposition,  the  leader  of 
which  from  the  first  meeting  of  the  new  Parliament  was 
Richard  Lincoln. 


CHAPTER   III. 
MY  LADY'S  CHAMBER. 

THE  seashore  in  late  November  is  never  cheerful.  The 
gray,  downcast  skies  sadden  the  sympathetic  ocean  ;  the 
winds  cut  to  the  marrow,  and  the  yellow  grass  and  bare 
trees  make  the  land  as  sad -colored  as  the  sea.  But  even 
at  this  season  a  walk  along  the  cliff  upon  which  Ripon 
House  stands  is  invigorating,  if  the  walker's  blood  is 
young.  The  outlook  toward  the  water  is  bluff  and  bold 
and  the  descent  sheer. 

A  neat,  gravelled  path  conforming  to  the  line  of  the 
coast  divides  the  precipice  from  the  smooth,  closely-crop 
ped  lawn  which  sweeps  down  from  the  terrace  of  the  an 
cient  mansion.  Ripon  House  is  an  imposing,  spacious 
pile.  It  bears  marks  of  the  tampering  of  the  last  century 
when  the  resuscitated  architecture  of  Queen  Anne  threat 
ened  to  become  ubiquitous. 

A  vast  plantation  of  stately  trees  originally  shut  out  the 
buildings  on  three  sides  from  the  common  gaze,  but  the 
exigencies  of  the  lawn-tennis  court  and  the  subsequent  des 
titution  of  the  late  earl,  who  renounced  his  wood  fire  the 
last  of  all  the  luxuries  then  appurtenant  to  a  noble  lineage, 
have  sadly  thinned  the  splendid  grove.  Nor  is  the  domain 
void  of  historic  interest.  Here  was  the  scene  of  the  crown- 


20  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

ing  festivity  of  the  pleasure-loving  Victorian  era  when  the 
nobility  of  the  United  Kingdom  gathered  to  listen  to  a 
masque  by  Sir  William  Gilbert  and  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  in 
aid  of  a  fund  to  erect  a  statue  to  the  memory  of  one  John 
Brown,  a  henchman  of  the  sovereign. 

But  what  boots  in  this  age  of  earnest  activity  more  than 
a  trivial  reference  to  the  selfish  splendor  of  a  superstitious 
past  ?  To-day  is  to-day,  and  the  nails  on  the  coffin-lid  of 
the  last  Hanoverian  would  scarcely  be  of  silver,  so  many 
hungry  mouths  are  to  be  fed. 

Geoffrey  Ripon  on  the  morning  following  his  reflections 
was  sauntering  along  the  gravel  path  which  bordered  the 
cliff.  He  was  reading  the  half- penny  morning  paper,  in 
which  he  had  just  come  upon  a  paragraph  describing  the 
discovery  by  the  police  of  a  batch  of  infernal  machines  sup 
posed  to  have  been  sent  over  from  America  by  friends  of 
the  Royalists.  Among  the  emissaries  captured  he  read  the 
name  of  Cedric  Ruskin,  an  old  schoolfellow  and  great- 
grandson  to  an  art  critic  of  that  surname  who  flourished  in 
former  days  by  force  of  his  own  specific  gravity.  Pained 
at  the  intelligence,  he  sighed  heavily,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  sitting  down  upon  a  rustic  bench  close  at  hand  when  a 
melodious,  gladsome  voice  hallooing  his  name  broke  in 
upon  his  meditation.  He  looked  up  and  perceived  Miss 
Maggie  Windsor  skipping  down  the  lawn  with  charming 
unconventionality. 

"  Lord  Brompton,  Lord  Brompton." 

He  raised  his  hat  and  stood  waiting  for  the  girl,  whose 
motions  were  marvellously  graceful,  especially  if  her  large 
and  vigorous  physique  be  considered.  No  sylph  could 
have  glided  with  less  awkwardness,  and  yet  a  spindle  more 
closely  resembles  the  bole  of  a  giant  oak  than  Maggie  Wind- 


MY  LADY'S   CHAMBER.  21 

sor  the  frail  damsels  who  bent  beneath  the  keen  blasts  of 
New  England  a  hundred  years  ago.  Her  countenance  dis 
closed  all  the  sprightly  intelligence  which  her  great-grand 
mother  may  have  possessed,  but  her  glowing  cheeks  and 
bright  blue  eyes  told  of  a  constitution  against  which  ner 
vous  prostration  fulminated  in  vain.  Nor  were  the  bang 
or  bangle  of  a  former  generation  visible  in  her  composi 
tion.  But  here  a  deceptive  phrase  deserves  an  explanation. 
"  Composition"  is  an  epithet  which,  least  of  all,  is  appli 
cable.  Miss  Windsor's  perfections  of  whatever  kind  were 
wholly  natural. 

A  St.  Bernard  dog  of  superb  proportions  gambolled  at 
her  side. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  glad  to 
see  you  again." 

"  And  I,  Miss  Windsor,  to  see  you."  They  shook 
hands  with  cordiality.  "  And  how  do  you  like  your  new 
lodgings  ?' '  he  inquired. 

"  Ah,  Lord  Brompton,  I  was  afraid  you  would  feel  net 
tled  that  we  capitalists  should  possess  your  grand  old 
homestead.  My  purpose  in  swooping  down  upon  you  in 
this  unceremonious  style  was  to  ask  you  to  make  yourself 
quite  at  home  in  the  place.  Consider  it  your  own  if  you 
will." 

"  What  would  your  father  say  to  such  an  arrangement, 
I  wonder?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  her. 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "papa  monopolizes  everybody 
and  everything  else,  but  I  monopolize  him.  But  you  look 
serious,  Lord  Brompton,  and  less  complacent,  if  I  may  use 
the  expression,  than  when  we  met  last.  Dear  old  Paris. 
That  was  two  years  ago. ' ' 

"  Ought  I  to  look  complacent  after  reading  in  the  news- 


22  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

paper  that  my  old  schoolmate,  Cedric  Ruskin,  has  been 
arrested  on  a  charge  of  high  treason  ?" 

"Alas!  poor  Cedric! — no,  that  was  Yorick.  Down, 
Bayard,  down, ' '  she  cried  to  her  dog. 

' '  A  great  many  things  may  happen  in  two  years,  Miss 
Windsor.  When  chance  first  brought  us  together,  I  was  a 
landed  proprietor,  and  the  heir  of  a  noble  lineage.  To 
day  I  am  a  beggar  at  the  feet  of  fatherless  wealth. ' ' 

"  Excuse  me,  Lord  Brompton,  I  have  a  father." 

"  Did  I  say  I  was  at  your  feet,  Miss  Windsor  ?" 

"You  are  the  same  clever  creature  as  ever,"  she  an 
swered.  "  But  I  am  beginning  to  believe  you  are  in  ear 
nest.  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  the  Lord  Brompton  who 
told  me  once  that  fate's  quiver  held  no  shaft  to  terrify  a 
philosopher  ?  '  Dust  to  dust,  and  what  matters  it  whether 
king  or  chaos  rule  ? '  Those  were  your  words.  I  warned 
you  then,  but  you  laughed  me  to  scorn — " 

"  And  now  you  are  deriding  me." 

"  You  are  unjust.  I  met  you  with  a  proffer  of  hospital 
ity,  but  you  would  none  of  it.  " 

"  Am  I  not  to  dine  with  you  this  evening  ?" 

"  True.  Then  as  a  further  instance  that  you  are  still  a 
stoic,  come  now  and  exhibit  to  me  the  treasures  and 
secrets  of  Ripon  House.  I  have  got  no  farther  than  the 
picture  gallery  as  yet.  There  is  an  ancestor  of  George  the 
Third's  time  whose  features  are  the  prototype  of  yours — the 
same  dreamy  eye — the  same  careless  smile — the  same  look 
of  being  petted.  You  remember  I  always  said  you  had 
been  spoiled  by  petting." 

She  led  the  way  across  the  lawn,  with  Bayard  bounding 
close  at  hand. 

"  I  am  sure  there  must  be  secret  galleries  and  haunted 


MY  LADY'S   CHAMBER.  23 

chambers  and  all  sorts  of  dreadful  places.  I  telephoned 
to  Mr.  Jawkins  to  inquire,  but  he  answered,  '  Not  as  I 
know  of,  miss/  I  suppose  he  is  so  fearfully  practical 
he  wouldn't  care  if  a  real  ghost  met  him  in  a  remote 
wing. ' ' 

"  What  a  pity  we  didn't  live  in  the  last  century  when 
people  still  gave  ghosts  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,"  said 
Lord  Bromptbn,  sadly.  "Now  we  are  certain  that  there 
never  were  any. ' ' 

4 '  But  we  may  still  run  across  a  skeleton  in  a  closet, ' ' 
said  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  yes.      But  who,  by  the  way,  is  Mr.   Jawkins?" 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  Mr.  Jarley  Jawkins,  the 
famous  country-house  agent  and  individual  caterer?" 

Lord  Brompton  shook  his  head. 

'•He  is  indeed  a  remarkable  man,"  she  continued. 
"  When  we  decided  to  come  to  England  my  father  tele 
phoned  to  Jawkins,  who  immediately  sent  out  a  list  of 
country-seats.  We  chose  this  and  made  arrangements 
with  him  to  supply  us  with  guests  at  so  much  a  head.  A 
regular  country-house  party — a  duke  and  duchess,  one  or 
two  financially  embarrassed  noblemen,  a  disestablished 
bishop,  a  professional  beauty,  a  poet-peer,  and  several  other 
attractions.  Oh,  Jawkins  is  wonderful.  They  are  all 
coming  to-day.  Won' t  it  be  fun  ?  But  it  may  seem  rude 
to  ask  you  to  meet  such  people  ?  I  am  sorry.  You  will 
be  almost  the  only  guest  not  hired  for  the  occasion.  It 
was  very  inconsiderate  of  me. ' ' 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  young  lord.  "  Perhaps  I 
may  find  an  opening  here.  I'm  looking  out  for  a  job. 
Possibly  you  may  not  be  aware,  Miss  Windsor,  that  the 
porter's  lodge,  which  I  occupy  at  present,  is  my  sole  piece 


24  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

of  property.  I  will  send  my  card  to  Jawkins.  By  the 
way,  does  he  conduct  them  in  person  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  comes  on  the  first  day  to  introduce 
them.  Jawkins  is  a  most  amusing  man.  He  is  enor 
mously  rich  and  a  great  bon-vivant.  He  has  a  retinue  of 
thoroughly  trained  servants  whom  he  dispatches  to  his  cus 
tomers,  and  everything  he  supplies  is  in  the  most  perfect 
taste.  He  has  but  one  weakness  :  he  loves  a  lord  and  is 
the  sworn  enemy  of  the  new  regime.  Don't  you  look  for 
ward  with  interest  to  the  feast  to-night  ?  I  shall  give  you 
a  professional  beauty  to  take  into  dinner  ;  and  of  course  I 
shall  go  in  with  the  man  of  the  highest  rank.  But  here 
we  are,"  she  said,  as  they  reached  the  upper  terrace  in 
front  of  the  house. 

"  What  a  superb  dog  you  have,  Miss  Windsor.  What 
is  his  name  ?"  said  Lord  Brompton,  gazing  with  admiration 
at  the  noble  creature,  who  stood  on  the  threshold,  panting 
after  his  run. 

"  His  name  is  Bayard." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Windsor,  I  perceive  that  you  still  recognize 
the  glamour  of  a  lordly  title  in  the  matter  of  naming  your 
pets.  The  Chevalier  Bayard  smacks  of  royal  preroga 
tive." 

"  Pardon  me  ;  Bayard  is  named  after  an  American 
statesman  who  was  contemporary  with  my  great-grand 
father.  But  isn't  he  a  beauty?  He  cost  $IOOD.  There 
is  not  another  of  his  variety  in  the  United  States." 

"  I  should  like  to  go  to  America,"  said  Lord  Brompton, 
pensively,  as  he  entered  the  familiar  library  now  renovated 
by  the  taste  of  Jawkins.  "  My  views  have  changed  mate 
rially  on  many  questions  since  we  last  met.  I  can  see  that 
things  here  are  likely  to  be  in  a  chaotic  state  for  a  long 


MY  LADY'S   CHAMBER.  25 

time  to  come,  whereas  your  institutions  have  become  per 
manent." 

"  But  you  ought  to  wish  to  remain  and  help  your  fellow- 
countrymen  to  better  things,  Lord  Brompton.  Look  at 
that  line  of  ancestors,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  ought  to 
do  something  worthy  of  them." 

The  ex-peer  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  ambition,  I 
think,  thanks  largely  to  my  friendship  with  you  two  sum 
mers  ago  ;  but  the  outlook  is  very  gloomy.  England  is  in 
the  hands  of  professional  politicians.  There  is  no  chance 
for  gentlemen  in  political  life." 

"  But  the  King  may  come  to  his  own  again,"  she  mur 
mured,  in  pity  for  his  mood.  "  Your  title  is  unimpeached 
at  his  exiled  court." 

"  I  have  doubts  as  to  the  desirability  of  a  return  to  the 
old  order  of  things,  even  if  there  were  hopes  of  success. 
It  is  useless  to  fight  against  the  spirit  of  the  age.  The 
King  is  old  and  fat. ' ' 

"  I  saw  the  King  riding  in  a  herdic  in  Boston  a  few  days 
before  we  sailed,"  said  Maggie.  "  He  was  stopping  at  the 
old  Province  House.  Poor  sovereign,  he  looked  desti 
tute.  ' ' 

' '  He  is  very  poor.  What  was  saved  from  the  wreck  is 
in  the  hands  of  Bugbee,  the  London  banker.  The  court 
has  since  been  moved  to  the  South  End.  But  a  monarchy 
is  surely  vastly  preferable  to  our  present  administration. 
President  Bagshaw  is  a  disgrace  to  any  civilized  commu 
nity,  to  say  nothing  of  an  ideal  republic." 

"  There  is  the  ancestor  who  looks  like  you,"  said  she, 
pointing  to  the  portrait  of  a  cavalier  wearing  hat  and  plume 
and  long  mustaches.  "  But  is  there  no  hope  from  the 
opposition  ?"  she  inquired. 


26  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

"  I  cannot  yet  bring  myself  to  sympathize  with  the  Lib 
erals,  although  their  leader,  Richard  Lincoln,  is  a  great 
and  upright  man.  While  the  King  lives  I  can  no  more  be 
disloyal  to  the  House  of  Hanover  than  my  namesake  up 
there  could  have  been  to  his  master's  cause.  Still,  I  feel 
we  are  living  in  an  age  when  opinions  are  no  more  secure 
from  revolution  than  dynasties." 

"Speaking  just  now  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard  reminds 
me  that  Jawkins  mentioned  as  one  of  the  guests  he  had 
procured  for  the  occasion — " 

"  Like  so  much  plate  or  china,"  interrupted  the  quon 
dam  peer,  bitterly. 

' '  Sir  John  Dacre, ' '  continued  Miss  Windsor,  without 
regard  to  his  petulance. 

"  John  Dacre  ?"  he  cried,  with  interest. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Know  him  !  He  was  one  of  my  dearest  college  friends. 
He  is  a  man  of  the  utmost  dignity  of  soul  and  consummate 
breeding." 

"  Jawkins  spoke  of  him  with  positive  awe  as  a  gentle 
man  of  the  old  school.  '  He  is  a  chevalier  sans  pcur  et 
sans  reproche,  miss/  said,  he,  *  and  one  of  my  choicest 
specimens.  He  is  more  precious  than  Sevres  china  ;  but 
at  present  he  declines  pay/  ' 

"  St.  George  and  the  dragon  !"  cried  Lord  Brompton, 
"what  would  Dacre  say  could  he  hear  the  comparison? 
Jawkins' s  life  would  not  be  worth  an  hour's  purchase. 
We  regarded  John  Dacre  at  Oxford  as  the  ideal  of  a  chival- 
ric  nature." 

"  You  interest  me  greatly,"  said  she.  "  But  what  has 
he  been  doing  since  you  graduated  ?' ' 

"  We  have  not  met,  but  I  have  heard  of  him  as  loyal 


MY  LADY'S   CHAMBER.  27 

and  devoted  to  the  royal  cause  when  the  outlook  was  dark 
est.  I  shall  find  him  the  same  noble,  ardent  soul  as  ever, 
I  have  not  a  doubt.  Like  enough  his  zeal  will  be  the 
needful  spur  to  my  flagging  spirit." 

They  had  been  wandering  through  the  spacious  mansion 
as  they  talked,  but  so  absorbed  were  they  in  the  conversa 
tion  that  the  changes  in  the  arrangement  of  the  ancient 
heirlooms  of  the  once  illustrious  house  of  Ripon  made  but 
little  impression  upon  Lord  Brompton.  Weary  at  last  with 
their  wanderings  the  twain  seated  themselves  upon  a  broad 
leather  couch,  from  which  they  could  command  a  view  of  a 
magnificent  stained-glass  mullioned  window,  which  dated 
back  to  the  days  of  George  the  First.  The  half  light  of 
the  apartment  was  perhaps  a  begetter  of  remembrances,  for 
they  began  to  talk  of  the  past,  if  indeed  so  short  a  period 
back  as  two  summers  deserves  to  be  so  entitled.  Through 
Lord  Brompton' s  thoughts  floated  an  inquiry  as  to  whether 
he  was  not  in  love  with  his  companion,  for,  if  not,  why  this 
joyous  sense  of  re-acquisition  on  his  part  ?  He  had  never 
forgotten  the  pleasant,  happy  hours  passed  in  La  Belle 
France,  and  here  they  were  come  again,  and  he  was  visiting 
side  by  side  with  her  whose  smile  had  been  their  harbinger. 

"  But  I  am  forgetting,  Lord  Brompton,  the  object  of 
our  coming  here,"  she  exclaimed  at  last.  *'  I  want  to 
know  the  secrets  of  Ripon  House.  Where  is  the  haunted 
chamber  ?" 

Geoffrey  smiled,  and  rising  from  his  seat  walked  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  and  touched  a  spring  in  the  wain 
scot.  A  panel  flew  to  one  side  and  revealed  a  narrow 
aperture. 

"  Follow  me  if  you  have  a  brave  heart,"  he  cried,  look 
ing  back. 


28  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

The  apartment  in  which  they  were  sitting  was  the  library 
and  this  exit  was  a  curious  winding  staircase,  which  gradu 
ally  grew  less  dark  as  they  proceeded.  At  last  they  found 
themselves  in  a  sort  of  antechamber,  scarcely  large  enough 
to  turn  about  in,  formed  by  a  bay  or  projection.  There 
was  an  oak  seat  with  the  Ripon  arms  carved  on  the  back. 
Above  it  a  tiny  window,  showing  the  great  thickness  of  the 
wall,  let  in  a  few  rays  of  light. 

"  Sit  down — sh  !"  said  Lord  Brompton,  and  he  put  his 
finger  to  his  lips  and  nodded  toward  a  low  door  which  was 
visible  a  few  feet  beyond.  "  It  is  there." 

"  Oh,  this  is  delightful.  Is  it  a  real,  genuine,  ancestral 
ghost  ?' ' 

"  In  that  chamber  the  Lady  Marian  Ripon,  an  ances 
tress  of  mine,  is  said  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart.  Her 
husband,  the  great-grandson  of  the  Lord  Brompton  whose 
portrait  you  think  I  resemble,  was  killed  at  Teb,  and  three 
days  after  her  body  was  borne  to  the  tomb.  This  was  her 
private  chamber,  and  here  her  spirit  is  said  still  to  linger. 
It  is  not  a  very  original  ghost,  but  its  authenticity  is  un 
questioned." 

' '  Have  you  ever  crossed  the  threshold  ?' '  asked  the  girl, 
with  mock  solemnity. 

"  Not  since  childhood,  and  then  only  in  fear  and  trem 
bling.  ' ' 

"  This  is  beginning  to  be  positively  weird  and  uncanny," 
she  murmured,  ' '  but  I  propose  to  defy  the  spectre  and 
enter." 

"  Have  a  care — have  a  care.  But  you  have  no  key, 
Miss  Windsor." 

She  was  shaking  the  handle,  which  seemed  loose  and 
flimsy.  "  Help  me.  It  is  not  fastened,"  she  cried. 


MY  LADY S   CHAMBER.  29 

They  bent  their  united  strength  upon  the  door,  which 
creaked,  groaned,  and  finally  burst  open  with  a  crash,  caus 
ing  the  dust  to  fly  so  that  Maggie  gave  a  little  shriek  of  dis 
may.  Complete  silence  and  darkness  followed  the  on 
slaught,  and  then  with  a  whisper  of  "  Who's  afraid  ?"  she 
drew  forth  a  lamp  of  diminutive  proportions  and  Etruscan 
design,  and  turning  the  crank  produced  a  brilliant  electric 
flame,  which  permeated  the  damp  and  gloom  of  the 
ghostly  chamber. 

Here  was,  indeed,  a  monument  to  decay  and  mould  of 
the  past  A  room  rife  with  the  cobwebs  of  ages  met  their 
vision  where  the  moth-eaten  remains  of  once  gorgeous 
hangings  competed  for  utter  fustiness  with  the  odor  of  the 
rotting  beams  and  the  dismal  aspect  of  the  furniture, 
some  of  which  had  actually  fallen  to  pieces,  as  though 
further  stability  had  been  incompatible  with  the  long  ab 
sence  of  human  life.  The  place  seemed  almost  too  deso 
late  for  a  ghost  other  than  a  very  morbid  spirit  in  search  of 
penance.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  lay  in  hopeless  confu 
sion  a  pile  of  all  sorts  and  varieties  of  garments,  many  of 
them  of  most  antiquated  description.  Plumed  hats  and 
velvet  knee-breeches  of  the  cavalier  period,  Jersey  jackets 
and  tea-gowns,  with  Watteau  plaits,  such  as  were  in  fash 
ion  when  Victoria  was  queen,  were  mingled  with  articles  of 
a  more  recent  date.  On  the  top  lay  an  open  volume,  the 
pages  of  which  were  brown  with  dust.  Maggie  picked  it 
up  and  read  : 

"  Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me 
'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good  ; 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets 
And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood." 


30  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

* '  By  whom  is  that,  Lord  Brompton  ?  Ah  !  I  see,  Lord 
d'Eyncourt.  His  name  is  on  the  title-page." 

"An  eccentric  Victorian  poet,"  said  the  young  man, 
' '  of  much  account  in  his  own  day,  if  I  mistake  not. ' ' 

"  I  never  heard  of  him,"  said  Maggie,  "  but  I  am  little 
of  an  antiquarian.  It  is  pretty,  though." 

"  I  remember,"  said  he,  "  that  we  as  children  used  to 
act  theatricals  here  in  those  old  clothes,  duds  we  ransacked 
from  the  closets." 

"  But  where  is  the  ghost?  I  want  to  see  the  ghost !" 
cried  the  girl,  tossing  aside  the  last  bit  of  tarnished  finery. 
"  What  is  this  ?"  she  continued,  seizing  the  end  of  a  beam 
which  had  become  loosened  and  projected  from  the  wall. 

;<  You  will  have  the  house  about  our  ears  if  you  per 
sist,"  he  cried,  as  a  shower  of  crumbled  stone  and  mortar 
followed  her  investigation. 

"  Well,  it  is  my  house,  Lord  Brompton  ;  I  have  the 
right  if  I  choose  to. ' ' 

"  Why  remind  me  of  my  misfortunes,  Miss  Windsor?" 

"  Come  and  help  me,  then." 

"  I  wish  I  might  be  your  helpmate  forever,"  he  said. 
She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  slightly  disconcerted,  and 
then  said  :  "  I  was  wrong.  The  women  of  to-day  need 
no  help  from  any  one." 

She  gave  the  beam  a  strong  wrench,  as  though  to  vindi 
cate  her  assertion.  It  yielded  and  disclosed  a  kind  of  box 
or  recess  set  into  the  wall.  She  plunged  therein  her  hand, 
and  drew  forth  a  handsome  sword  of  rich  and  subtle  work 
manship  and  antique  design.  "  There,"  she  cried,  "  am 
I  not  right?" 

Maggie  took  it  to  the  light.  Around  the  hilt  was  wrap 
ped  a  scroll,  which  she  was  about  to  read,  when,  with  a 


MY  LADY'S   CHAMBER.  31 

sudden  fancy,  she  paused  and  said,  "  What  am  I  doing? 
These  are  family  secrets,  and  meant,  perhaps,  only  for 
your  eyes,  Lord  Brompton. ' ' 

"Read  it,  I  beg,"  said  he.  She  obeyed  him.  In  a 
faint,  feminine  hand,  which  resembled  a  field  of  corn  bowed 
by  the  wind,  were  written  these  words  : 

"  My  grandfather's  sword.      MARIAN  RIPON." 

"  The  ghost — it  is  the  ghost's  own  work,"  they  cried 
together. 

"And  this  sword,"  said  he,  "belonged  to  my  name 
sake,  the  cavalier. ' ' 

' '  But  look — look. ' '  Maggie  had  been  staring  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  paper. 

Geoffrey  took  it  from  her  hand. 

"  Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood." 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  one  another  in  speechless 
surprise. 

"  Kneel,  Lord  Brompton,"  she  said  at  length.  He  did 
so,  and  taking  a  scarf  from  among  the  pile  of  vestments  she 
girded  the  sword  about  him  with  fantastic  grace.  "  Rise, 
Geoffrey  Ripon,  knight,  and  Earl  of  Brompton." 

' '  You  are  forever  my  sovereign. ' '  He  kissed  her  hand. 
She  blushed  sweetly,  and  turning  said,  "  Enough  of  the 
past  and  its  customs.  We  each  have  a  present  to  face, 
and  mine  for  the  nonce  is  Jawkins.  He  must  need  my 
directions." 

Thus  it  happened  that  when  Lord  Brompton  next  en 
tered  the  porter's  lodge  in  which  he  dwelt,  he  was  girded 
with  the  sword  of  his  ancestors. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

JARLEY   JAWKINS. 

THE  library  of  Ripon  House  was  an  apartment  panelled 
in  oak,  blackened  by  time  and  smoke.  The  high  and 
richly  carved  mantelpiece  bore  the  arms  of  the  Ripon 
family,  three  wolves  on  a  field,  or,  surmounted  by  a  wild 
man  from  Borneo  rampant,  bearing  a  battle-axe,  gules. 
Shelves  which  once  were  filled  with  fine  books  were  then 
empty,  the  void  being  covered  by  old  tapestries.  The  fur 
niture  was  old  and  gaunt,  save  for  a  few  modern  soft-cush 
ioned  chairs  which  seemed  to  have  been  recently  deposited 
there,  and  were,  by  the  brilliant  color  of  their  coverings, 
not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  faded  tapestries  of  their 
high-backed  and  carven  predecessors.  On  one  of  the  gaunt 
old  chairs  Abraham  Windsor  was  seated,  holding  in  his 
right  hand  the  London  Times,  which  slowly  issued  from  a 
' '  ticker' '  upon  the  table  at  his  side.  After  looking  sharply 
at  the  financial  news,  which  just  then  was  being  recorded 
in  the  ' '  Thunderer, ' '  he  glanced  quickly  toward  the  door, 
as  if  he  expected  some  one  to  enter.  Abraham  Windsor 
was  a  man  of  sixty,  and  each  year  seemed  to  have  left  its 
impress  upon  the  man  who  had  battled  through  it,  so  that 
he  seemed  his  own  living  history,  and  by  close  observation 
you  might  read  of  a  youth  of  scant  schooling  in  books, 


JAR  LEY  JAWKINS.  33 

not  spent  among  folks  of  gentle  breeding,  nor  protected 
from  the  world,  but  left  to  shift  for  itself  against  the  nu 
merous  kicks  and  scanty  half  pence  of  the  hard  world  ;  then 
one  might  discern  the  period  of  restless  scheming  and  spec 
ulation,  and  finally  the  look  of  successful  yet  of  unsatisfied 
ambition.  Still  his  face  was  not  a  hard  and  stern  one,  but 
shrewd  and  kindly.  He  seemed  a  man  who  would  drive 
careful  bargains,  but  who  was  too  large-minded  and  honest 
to  be  mean  or  overreaching.  His  large  head  was  thatched 
with  thick,  bristling  iron-gray  hair,  his  face  was  swarthy 
and  clean-shaven,  his  black  eyes  were  deep-set  and  keen, 
his  nose  prominent,  yet  well-shaped,  and  his  mouth  firm 
and  resolute,  having  a  humorous  curve  ;  he  was  plainly 
dressed  in  a  black  broadcloth  suit  which  hung  loosely  over 
his  bony  frame.  He  threw  down  the  ribbons  upon  the 
floor  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and  watched  the  news  of 
the  world,  as  it  coiled  at  his  feet  in  the  white  spirals,  for  a 
moment ;  then  he  arose  from  his  chair  and  touched  an 
electric  knob.  Instantly  a  stately  footman  in  a  dark  livery 
and  a  powdered  wig  entered  the  room. 

' c  Mr.  Jawkins  has  arrived  ?' '  Mr.  Windsor  asked. 

"No,  sir.     Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Has  Miss  Windsor  returned  from  her  walk  ?" 

"  She  has  come  into  the  house,  sir." 

"  Has  Mr.  Jawkins  sent  word  when  we  are  to  expect 
him?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  we  are  awaiting  him  every  moment,  sir.  I 
think  I  hear  wheels  now,  sir." 

"  Very  well  ;  ask  him  to  come  to  me  here  when  he  is 
at  leisure." 

The  tall  footman  bowed  and  noiselessly  left  the  room, 
and  Mr.  Windsor  picked  up  the  Times  and  looked  at  it 


34  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

for  a  moment.  Presently  a  short,  pudgy  man  in  travel 
ling  dress,  with  thin,  smoothly-brushed  hair,  mutton-chop 
whiskers  and  a  very  red  face,  was  ushered  into  the  room, 
and  Mr.  Windsor  stretched  out  his  hand  in  welcome. 

"  Mr.  Jawkins,  I  believe  ?" 

' '  Yes,  Mr.  Windsor  ;  I  am  Jarley  Jawkins,  very  much 
at  your  service." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Jawkins,"  said  the  American  ; 
"  take  a  cigar,  won't  you  ?  I  will  ring  for  some  whiskey 
and  water  if  you  care  for  a  snifter." 

"  I  beg  to  be  excused,"  replied  Jawkins,  deprecatingly. 
"  You  American  gentlemen  must  have  the  constitutions  of 
horses  ;  you  seem  to  be  able  to  smoke  and  take  '  snifters,' 
as  you  drolly  call  them,  at  all  hours,  but  I  really  cannot 
do  it,  you  know.  Do  you  find  things  to  suit  you  here, 
Mr.  Windsor  ?  I  could  have  given  you  many  finer  houses  ; 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  rather  surprised  when  you 
chose  Ripon  House  out  of  my  list.  There  is  so  little  fur 
niture  in  it  that  my  men  have  not  been  able  to  put  in  all 
the  necessary  articles  yet,  but  it  will  be  wholly  in  order  in 
a  few  hours." 

' '  Yes  ;  your  men  seem  very  busy, ' '  replied  Mr.  Wind 
sor.  "  The  upper  floors  are  all  ready,  but  I  have  been 
driven  into  this  room  on  the  ground  floor  this  morning." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me,  what  a  pity,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jawkins, 
looking  around  the  room.  "  It  is  very  bare  and  uncom 
fortable  ;  but  you  will  not  know  the  room  when  my  fellows 
are  through  with  it.  You  will  have  one  of  the  finest  col 
lections  of  books  here  in  all  England  in  a  few  hours.  I 
have  purchased  the  Marquis  of  Queensberry's  collection, 
and  ordered  them  sent  here.  Nothing  gives  so  good  an 
effect  of  color  in  a  room  as  a  library  of  handsome  books, 


JARLEY  JAWKINS.  35 

you  know.  They  have  turned  the  Times  on,  I  see,"  he 
remarked,  pointing  to  the  ticker.  "  I  saw  in  it  this  morn 
ing  that  Richard  Lincoln  and  his  daughter  were  to  be  your 
guests  here.  Your  friend,  sir,  I  suppose  ?  He  certainly 
is  not  down  in  my  list ;  great  man,  sir,  but  not  one  of 
us." 

"  Mr.  Lincoln  is  one  of  the  men  whom  I  most  highly 
respect  in  the  world,"  answered  Mr.  Windsor,  curtly. 
"When  do  you  expect  the  people  in  your  list  to  arrive ?" 

"  Oh,  they  will  come  at  all  hours,"  answered  Jawkins. 
"  I  must  send  a  lot  of  traps  to  the  station  to  meet  them. 
Have  you  been  out  to  the  stables,  sir  ?  I  have  sent  you 
one  of  the  finest  studs  in  all  England.  Do  you  hunt,  Mr. 
Windsor?" 

' '  Never, ' '  answered  Mr.  Windsor. 

"  Since  the  farmers  have  taken  to  shooting  the  foxes," 
continued  Mr.  Jawkins,  "  the  noble  old  sport  has  gone  all 
to  pieces,  even  here  ;  but  you  drive  four-in-hand,  I  hope. 
I  have  ordered  a  beautiful  new  break  for  your  use.  But 
you  will  see,  sir,  all  I  have  done  for  you.  Now,  if  you 
are  at  leisure  for  the  list  of  the  guests  whom  I  have  been 
able  to  engage.  When  you  have  gone  over  it  with  me, 
Mr.  Windsor,  I  think  that  you  will  admit  that  it  is  a 
charming  country-house  party  to  have  got  together  on  such 
short  notice.  First,  you  see,  we  have  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Bayswater.  I  have  engaged  them  for  the  first  three  days 
of  your  stay  here  to  give  eclat  to  your  hospitality,  at  the 
price  of  a  diva  and  her  accompanying  tenor,  I  must  admit. 
It  is  their  very  first  appearance  professionally,  and  I  think 
that  I  have  done  very  well  by  you. ' ' 

Mr.  Windsor  gave  a  little  groan,  which  Mr.  Jawkins 
did  not  seem  to  notice,  however,  as  he  continued  : 


36  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  I  fear  that  His  Grace  will  not  be  in  the  best  of  spirits 
at  first.  He  is  a  grand  type  of  a  great  nobleman,  how 
ever,  and  worth  double  the  money  which  we  pay  him. 
Her  Grace  is  of  one  of  the  few  families  in  Great  Brit 
ain  which  are  found  in  the  Almanach  de  Gotha.  She  is 
like  a  magnificent  old  ruin,  almost  feudal  in  fact,  and  as 
proud  as  Lucifer.  Her  stare  is  said  to  be  withering,  and 
the  poise  of  her  head  makes  a  man's  tongue  cleave  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth. ' ' 

"  And  I  shall  have  to  take  her  in  to  dinner  for  the  next 
three  days?"  groaned  Windsor. 

"Of  course,  my  dear  sir;  but,  believe  me,  you  will 
enjoy  it  more  than  Her  Grace  will,"  replied  Jawkins. 
"  Next  comes  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  in  point  of 
order  on  my  list,  though  he  is  of  higher  rank  than  their 
Graces.  Since  the  disestablishment  of  the  Church,  and 
the  forfeiture  of  the  Church  properties,  he  has,  of  course, 
been  much  straitened  financially.  He  must  have  a  com 
fortable  room  and  a  warm  fire,  and  will  conduct  family 
prayers.  There  is  some  doubt  about  his  coming,  though, 
I  see,  as  he  is  far  from  well,  but  it  will  be  easy  to  get  a 
prelate  at  short  notice  ;  I  have  dozens  on  my  list,  ready  at 
call.  Next  we  have  Lord  Carrington,  who  is  not  very  good 
company,  but  of  wonderfully  fine  family.  His  ancestors 
came  over  with  William  the  Conqueror,  but  as  he  has  only 
^200  a  year,  he  was  not  loath  to  put  himself  under  my 
charge.  He  is  exceedingly  particular  as  to  his  food  and 
drink,  and  is  qne  of  the  best  card-players  in  London.  He 
used  to  make  a  fine  income  from  his  cards  ;  indeed,  he 
does  now  in  I.  O.  U. 's.  By  the  way,  he  inquired  whether 
you  played  '  piquet '  or  '  bezique/  from  which  I  infer  that 
he  is  looking  for  an  antagonist  with  ready  money." 


JARLEY  JAWKINS.  37 

Mr.  Windsor  laughed  and  slapped  his  knee  with  his  thin, 
bony  hand. 

"  Ah  !  the  wind  sets  in  that  corner,  does  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  answered  Jawkins. 

"  I  do  not  mind  taking  chances,  I  admit/'  said  Wind 
sor  ;  ' '  but  in  the  stock-market  I  am  in  the  position  of  the 
banker  at  the  gaming-table.  The  odds  are  in  my  favor. 
While  at  piquet  this  noble  lord  can  get  the  better  of  me. 
Who  else  have  you,  Jawkins  ?' ' 

' '  I  forgot  my  greatest  prize,  sir, ' '  said  Jawkins,  handing 
Mr.  Windsor  a  photograph.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
her?" 

Mr.  Windsor  looked  at  the  picture  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"  She  is  a  fine  woman,  Jawkins.  We  have  as  fine,  how 
ever,  in  the  States.  Who  is  she  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  to  be  sure.  Have  you  never  seen 
her  face  before,  Mr.  Windsor  ?  She  is  considered  to  be 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  London.  Her  husband,  of 
course,  is  left  there  ;  he  cares  only  for  brandy  and  soda 
and  baccarat,  and  would  be  very  much  in  the  way.  I 
believe  that  he  used  to  have  a  place  under  government, 
but  was  ousted  last  year,  probably  for  cause,  wonderful  as 
that  seems  now.  But  she  is  a  charming  woman,  and  I  find 
that  she  is  the  most  sought  after  of  any  one  on  my  list — that 
is  to  say,  with  the  hosts  ;  though  the  hostesses  sometimes 
object  to  her,  simply  from  envy  of  her  good  looks,  for  her 
good  name  cannot  be  questioned  while  her  husband  is 
satisfied  with  her." 

Mr.  Windsor  hummed  a  little  ;  he  was  too  new  to  the 
world  of  society  not  to  have  old-fashioned  views  on  the 
subject  of  a  woman's  fame. 

"Go  on  with  the  list,  please,  Jawkins  ;  time  flies,  and 


38  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

your  presence  must  be  required  to  arrange  the  drawing- 
rooms.  ' ' 

' '  Very  well,  Mr.  Windsor.  Then  Sir  John  Dacre,  one 
of  the  biggest  men  in  England  ;  I  never  have  understood, 
sir,  how  I  got  him  on  my  list.  He  is  so  proud  that  I 
should  have  fancied  that  he  would  have — saving  your  pres 
ence,  sir — have  broken  stones  in  the  street  rather  than 
bread  as  a  hired  guest.  For  he  is  a  noble  fellow." 

' '  Some  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it  ?' '  asked  Mr.  Wind- 
sor,  carelessly. 

' '  Something  mysterious,  certainly,  for  he  absolutely  re 
fused  to  take  any  fee,""  replied  Mr.  Jawkins.  "  Next 
comes  Colonel  Charles  Featherstone,  a  wild,  scatter-brained 
soldier,  who  lost  all  his  fortune  in  speculation  in  your 
American  cotton  and  grain  futures.  He  is  a  great  friend 
of  John  Dacre,  and  they  joined  me  at  the  same  time.  I 
am  really  giving  you  the  gems  of  my  whole  collection. ' ' 

A  flush  of  triumph  spread  over  the  man's  round  face  as 
he  continued  his  list.  "  Next,  I  have  three  of  the  '  artiste ' 
class,  and  here  I  am  not  so  successful,  though  to  be  sure  I 
pick  them  up  for  almost  nothing.  There  is  Erastus 
Prouty,  who  does  the  satirical  '  society '  articles  and  col 
lects  fashionable  gossip  for  the  Saturday  Review,  a  snigger 
ing,  sneering  chap,  with  a  single  eye-glass  and  immense 
self-conceit.  He  called  me  a  cad  in  his  paper  once,  but  I 
am  above  personal  feeling,  and  do  not  cut  the  man  off  from 
his  income.  Then,  you  have  Herr  Diddlej,  the  great 
Norwegian  pianist,  who  will  shatter  your  piano  in  half  an 
hour  ;  and,  finally,  Sydney,  the  wit,  who,  by  the  way,  has 
disappointed  me  greatly,  as  he  has  not  made  a  repartee  in 
a  twelvemonth,  nor  has  he  set  the  table  in  a  roar.  I 
reasoned  with  him  the  other  day  on  the  subject,  and  gave 


JARLEY  JAWKINS.  39 

him  fair  warning  that  this  visit  should  be  his  last  chance. 
Still,  I  pity  the  man  ;  he  is  a  great  bon  vivant,  and  if  he 
should  lose  his  reputation  as  a  wit  I  fear  that  he  would 
have  to  go  to  a  workhouse  or  on  the  London  Punch.  I 
have  finished  the  list.  How  does  it  please  you  ?' ' 

"  I  never  say  that  I  have  made  money  until  the  shares 
are  sold  and  paid  for,"  answered  Mr.  Windsor.  "  Your 
list  sounds  well,  but  I  think  I  like  the  old-fashioned  way 
of  asking  friends  to  stay  with  me  better.  Still,  your  plan 
is  novel." 

Mr.  Jawkins  seemed  hurt,  as  an  author  would  who  had 
looked  up  from  reading  the  finest  passage  in  his  epic  only 
to  perceive  that  his  auditor  was  asleep  and  not  spellbound. 
Jawkins  believed  in  the  "idee"  Jawkins  as  Napoleon  did 
in  his  destiny. 

"  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Windsor,  I  shall  go  to  my  own 
room  to  arrange  my  toilet,  and  then  I  must  see  about  the 
disposition  of  the  furniture,  bibelots  and  pictures,  and  at 
tend  to  the  preparations  for  the  reception  of  the  guests. 
You  need  not  meet  them  until  just  before  dinner,  when  I 
shall  be  on  hand  to  present  them  to  you.  I  cannot  be 
here  after  to-night.  I  must  start  to-morrow  morning  for 
Hampshire,  where  Prince  Petroloff  demands  my  services. 
You  see,  I  am  a  hard-worked  man,  Mr.  Windsor." 

'*  So  you  are  for  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Jawkins.  Then 
I  suppose  that  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  attend  to  all 
the  details  of  your  profession  personally.  By  the  way,  my 
daughter  tells  me  that  she  has  asked  young  Geoffrey 
Ripon,  who  used  to  be  on  the  British  Legation  at  Paris, 
where  we  were  two  summers  ago.  You  must  arrange  for 
him  at  the  dinner-table." 

"  Ah,   the  Earl  of  Brompton  !     He  is  not  a  client  of 


40  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

mine,  but  I  have  my  eye  on  him.  His  earthly  possessions 
consist  of  about  five  acres  of  land,  a  tumble-down  hut  near 
by,  and  a  double-barrelled  shotgun,  and  he  lost  his  secre 
taryship  when  the  new  administration  made  its  clean  sweep 
of  the  offices.  They  said  he  was  going  to  marry  a  rich  girl 
once,  I  believe." 

"  It  seems  that  he  did  not,"  said  Mr.  Windsor,  rising 
from  his  seat. 

Mr.  Jawkins  bowed  and  bustled  from  the  room,  and 
Mr.  Windsor  soon  heard  his  sharp  voice  ordering  the  army 
of  workmen  in  the  adjacent  rooms  with  the  precision  and 
authority  of  a  field-marshal. 

The  situation  amused  and  at  the  same  time  disconcerted 
the  humorous  American,  as  he  settled  back  in  a  chair 
before  the  great  wood  fire  which  crackled  in  the  chimney. 
Though  the  chair  was  soft  and  yielding  he  did  not  look 
comfortable,  for  men  with  long,  bony,  angular  figures 
never  seem  to  look  at  their  ease. 

Abraham  Windsor's  name  twenty  years  before  the  date 
of  this  story  would  not  have  added  to  the  marketable  value 
of  the  most  modest  promissory  note  in  the  money  markets 
of  Chicago,  to  which  city  he  had  come  fresh  from  his 
father's  farm  in  upper  Illinois  ;  but  at  this  time  it  was  a 
tower  of  strength  in  financial  quarters,  and  men  counted 
his  wealth  by  tens  of  millions. 

He  was  the  Jupiter  of  the  financial  world,  and  men  said 
that  when  his  iron-gray  locks  fell  over  each  other,  as  he 
nodded,  Wall  Street  trembled  and  Lombard  Street  crashed  ; 
so  that  it  seemed  only  from  forbearance  that  he  did  not 
sweep  all  the  chips  upon  the  great  gaming-table  of  the 
world  into  his  deep  pockets.  His  sudden  trip  to  Europe 
had  caused  much  discussion.  Some  knowing  ones  -whis- 


JARLEY  JAWKINS.  41 

pered  that  he  had  bought  a  controlling  interest  in  the  Bank 
of  England  from  the  assignees  in  bankruptcy  of  the  Broth- 
kinders,  with  the  object  of  making  a  panic  in  trade  by  a 
sudden  raise  of  the  rate  of  discount  to  six  per  cent ;  others, 
that  he  had  come  over  to  unload  upon  the  British  public 
his  shares  in  the  Hudson  Bay  and  Cape  Horn  Railroad 
Company. 

He  was  amused  by  the  wild  rumors,  for  he  had,  in  truth, 
come  to  England  with  no  deep-laid  scheme  or  motive,  but 
simply  because  his  daughter  had  ordered  his  doing  so  ;  for 
while  Abraham  Windsor  ruled  the  shares  market  and  the 
world  of  speculation,  a  certain  young  woman  ruled  him, 
and  the  hard-headed  man  of  affairs,  who  could  outwit  an 
Israelite  banker,  was  as  wax  under  her  dainty  fingers.  At 
the  close  of  the  last  season  at  Newport,  Miss  Margaret  had 
ordered  her  father,  as  she  poured  out  his  coffee  at  break 
fast,  to  engage  a  country  house  in  England  for  the  winter. 
Mr.  Windsor  looked  up  from  the  New  York  Herald,  which 
likened  him  to  his  Satanic  Majesty  in  one  column  and  de 
scribed  his  new  steam  yacht  in  another,  and  he  said, 
"  Aye,  aye,  miss,"  to  her  order. 

And  straightway  after  breakfast  he  went  to  the  Casino 
Club  and  telephoned  to  Jarley  Jawkins  for  his  list  of  estates 
to  rent  in  England,  for  he  knew  full  well  that  whether  Wall 
Street  or  the  heavens  crashed  Miss  Maggie's  orders  were 
to  be  obeyed.  She  selected  Ripon  House  from  Jawkins' s 
list,  and  her  father  hired  it,  although  he  had  a  leaning 
toward  Windsor  Castle,  which  the  Republic  wished  to  lease 
for  a  term  of  years,  or  to  sell  upon  easy  terms. 

Every  one  in  Paris  two  years  before  had  said  that  the 
penniless  young  Englishman,  Lord  Ripon,  wished  to  make 
a  rich  marriage,  and  that  the  capricious  Miss  Windsor, 


42  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

after  having  broken,  cracked  or  temporarily  discouraged  a 
sufficient  number  of  hearts,  was  at  last  ready  to  accept  a 
lord  and  perhaps  a  master.  But  in  the  middle  of  the 
season  the  British  Legation  was  recalled,  and  Geoffrey, 
after  a  few  words  of  farewell,  disappeared,  and  from  the 
day  of  his  leaving  Paris  Miss  Windsor  had  heard  nothing 
of  him.  She  did  not  know  herself  whether  she  cared  for 
him  ;  he  was  good-natured  and  amusing,  and  she  liked  to 
have  him  talk  to  her  and  be  her  slave,  but  when  he  was 
gone,  the  world  was  not  a  blank  to  her. 

Still,  it  piqued  her  that  Lord  Brompton  had  effaced 
himself  so  completely  from  her  life.  "  He  might,  at  least, 
have  written  to  let  me  know  that  he  lived,"  she  kept  think 
ing.  Of  course  she  knew  the  name  of  his  old  estate,  and 
she  knew  that  he  owned  the  porter's  lodge  and  the  few 
acres  around  it,  for  h*e  had  told  her  once  that  he  still 
owned  a  little  box  in  England,  and  that  when  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst  he  intended  to  crawl  into  it  and  shut  the 
lid.  When  Jawkins  sent  his  list  of  estates  for  rent,  and 
she  saw  the  name  of  Ripon  House  on  it,  her  heart  gave  a 
little  jump.  Mr.  Windsor  had,  of  course,  known  of  the 
affair  between  Lord  Geoffrey  and  his  daughter,  and  had 
neither  approved  nor  disapproved  of  it.  He  knew  that,  if 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  marry,  he  would  be  consulted 
only  as  a  matter  of  form.  When  she  had  informed  him  on 
their  arrival  that  Lord  Brompton  was  living  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  that  she  meant  to  invite  him  to  dinner  very 
soon,  the  shrewd  old  man  smiled  grimly,  and  acquiesced 
in  her  plan. 

As  her  father  sat  musing  before  the  fire,  the  door  opened 
suddenly,  and  Maggie  bounded  into  the  room. 

"  Has  Jawkins  arrived,  papa  ?"  she  asked. 


JAR  LEY  JAWKINS.  43 

"  Yes  ;  we  have  just  been  going  over  his  list  of  guests 
together.  By  the  way,  Maggie,  is  your  young  man  to  be 
our  guest  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  papa  \"  Maggie  exclaimed,  perching  herself  upon 
one  of  his  knees  and  stroking  his  chin  with  one  of  her 
dimpled  hands,  "  how  can  you  be  so  ill-bred  as  to  speak 
of  any  one  as  my  young  man  ?  Surely  I  have  no  proprie 
tary  rights  over  any  man,  save  one  very  nice  old  fellow, 
who  is  so  loyal  to  his  sovereign  that  he  never  thinks  of 
complaining  of  the  injustice  of  taxation  without  representa 
tion." 

"You  reverse  the  ordinary  process  with  me;  subjects 
have  been  wont  to  blow  up  their  sovereigns/'  answered  her 
father,  with  a  chuckle,  ' '  and  you  blow  up  me.  You  have 
not  told  me  about  Lord  Brompton.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  you  have  seen  him  before  to-day." 

'  *  Two  whole  years.     He  seems  so  dispirited. ' ' 

"  At  not  having  escaped  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  old  capitalist ;  not  at  all.  At  having 
been  so  long  separated  from  me.  It  was  very  pleasant  to 
see  him  again.  He  is  such  a  frtend  of  mine.  I  should 
say  that  he  interested  me  more  than  any  of  the  others. ' ' 

"Ah,  that  unfortunate  panorama  of  others,"  laughed 
her  father. 

"  Yes,  poor  fellows,"  said  Maggie,  a  little  regretfully, 
"  but  then  I  think  that  most  of  them  had  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance,  papa.  Lord  Brompton  has  not,  I  know." 

Mr.  Windsor  smiled. 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear.      What  is  he  doing  here  ?" 

"  What  the  world  has  forgotten  to  do  ;  what  he  can  do 
more  graciously  than  any  man  I  know — nothing, ' '  she  an 
swered. 


44  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  I  should  think  that  a  young  man  with  the  world 
before  him  might  find  something  better  to  do  than  to  mope 
in  a  porter's  lodge,  looking  mournfully  at  the  lands  which 
were  his  father's.  What  does  he  intend  to  do  in  the 
world?" 

"Oh,  he  said  nothing  of  his  plan  of  life,"  said  Miss 
Windsor;  "but  he  seemed  blue  and  restless.  I  think 
that  there  is  something  on  his  mind." 

"  These  aristocrats,  fallen  from  their  high  estate,  are 
really  in  a  pitiable  condition,"  said  Windsor.  "I  feel' 
like  a  cad  to  have  made  the  arrangement  which  I  have  with 
Jawkins.  I  wish  that  I  were  scot  free  from  the  whole  busi 
ness.  Poor  people,  how  they  must  hate  me  in  advance, 
and  what  a  vulgarian  they  must  think  me  to  be." 

4 '  Jawkins  says  that  it  is  a  recognized  system,  papa,  you 
remember,"  answered  Maggie.  "  After  all,  if  you  wish  a 
great  tenor  or  a  violin-player  at  your  parties,  you  pay  them 
for  it.  If  you  wish  a  duke  to  awe  or  a  beauty  to  charm 
your  guests,  why  should  you  not  hire  them  ?  This  is  a 
commercial  age.  The  poor  people  must  live,  and  if  they 
can  only  awe  or  charm,  there  is  no  harm  in  their  receiving 
pay  for  their  sole  merits." 

"You  should  have  been  bred  to  the  bar,  Maggie," 
laughed  her  father.  ' '  You  are  an  eloquent  advocate. ' ' 

There  was  a  rattling  of  wheels  up  the  driveway,  and  the 
great  hall  doors  were  heard  to  open. 

"Some  of  our  guests  have  arrived,"  remarked  Mr. 
Windsor.  "  I  hope  that  Jawkins  has  made  all  his  arrange 
ments  for  their  reception." 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Jawkins  entered 
carefully  dressed.  His  manner  was  quiet  and  his  voice 
subdued,  as  if  he  were  whispering  in  a  cathedral,  as  he  said  : 


JAR  LEY  JAWKINS.  45 

"  Their  Graces  the  Duke  and  Duchess  have  done  you 
the  honor  of  coming  under  your  roof,  Mr.  Windsor. 
They  are  very  much  fatigued  by  their  journey,  and  have 
retired  to  their  apartments. ' ' 

"  We  shall  meet  them  at  Philippi  before  the  action, 
shall  we  not  ?' '  asked  Miss  Windsor. 

"  Yes,  and  meanwhile  I  shall  do  everything  that  I  can 
for  the  comfort  of  your  guests  and  the  arrangement  of  the 
house.  Believe  me,  I  deeply  feel  the  gravity  of  the  situa 
tion,  "  he  continued,  as  he  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Windsor  to  his  daughter. 
*'  I  would  rather  face  an  army  of  irate  stockholders  than 
our  guests  this  evening.  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

JAWKINS'  s   JOLLITIES.  ' ' 

WHEN  Geoffrey  entered  that  evening  the  great  drawing- 
rooms  of  his  old  home  he  found  that  they  had  been  trans 
formed  from  shabby  and  musty  apartments  into  beautiful 
modern  salons,  which  had  the  air  of  having  been  long 
lived  in  by  people  of  refinement.  There  was  even  a  cer 
tain  feminine  touch  about  the  disposition  of  the  bric-k- 
brac.  The  handsome  pieces  of  old  furniture,  which 
seemed  like  friends  of  his  boyhood,  were  still  there,  re 
tained  by  the  true  artistic  sense  of  Jawkins,  who  knew  that 
no  modern  cabinetmaker  could  produce  their  like  ;  still 
everything  seemed  brightened,  as  if  the  old  rooms  had 
been  touched  with  sunshine.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
good  modern  paintings  and  old  tapestries  ;  the  tables  and 
mantelpieces  were  covered  thick  with  curios.  To  fill  a 
great  house  with  the  rare  objects  of  art  and  luxury  that  are 
found  in  the  abodes  of  those  families  which  have  held 
wealth  for  generations  is  an  impossibility  to  the  newly  rich. 
Their  brand-new  mansions,  left  to  upholsterers,  resemble 
great  caravansaries,  bare,  gilded  and  raw  with  primary 
colors.  But  Jawkins  was  an  artist ;  he  not  only  made  the 
houses  which  he  arranged  beautiful,  but  he  gave  them  the 


'S  JOLLITIES:  47 

air  of.  having  been  lived  in  for  years,  so  that  the  strangers 
within  the  gates,  who  had  been  taught  to  judge  of  men's 
characters  by  their  dwellings' and  surroundings,  could  not 
but  be  pleasantly  impressed.  Miss  Windsor  was  standing 
alone,  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  by  a  little  round-backed 
sofa,  and  smiled  a  greeting  at  Geoffrey.  After  exchanging 
a  few  words  with  his  host  he  walked  over  to  her,  and  she 
stretched  out  her  pretty  gloved  hand  in  welcome. 

"  Well  met  again,  Lord  Brompton  ;  but  you  are  not 
wearing  your  sword. ' ' 

"  '  The  Knights  are  dust,'  I  fear/'  he  quoted  with  a 
smile.  "I  was  loath  to  wear  it  with  modern  evening 
dress.  I  crave  your  forgiveness,  fair  lady." 

"  As  long  as  you  do  not  have  it  turned  into  a  plough 
share,  or  a  railway  share,  which  would  be  more  modern, ' ' 
laughed  Maggie,  "  I  will  forgive  you." 

"  Have  all  your  guests  arrived  ?" 

"  Of  course  ;  you  are  the  last  one,  as  usual.  It  has 
been  rather  an  ordeal  you  may  believe.  Papa  was  in  a 
dreadful  state  about  it.  The  Duke  and  the  Duchess  of 
Bayswater  he  was  especially  in  awe  of.  Dear  old  souls  ! 
You  see  them  over  there,  looking  like  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Marius  in  the  ruins  of  Carthage." 

Geoffrey,  turning,  saw  a  fine-looking  old  couple.  The 
Duke  still  wore  the  blue  ribbon  of  the  Garter  across  his 
breast.  He  was  a  mild-looking  gentleman,  who  seemed 
to  be  plunged  in  deep  melancholy.  His  head  was  bald 
and  highly  polished,  his  gray  side-whiskers  were  brushed 
carefully  forward,  and  his  nose  was  aquiline.  Her  Grace 
the  Duchess  surveyed  the  company  with  a  haughty  stare, 
which  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  habit  rather  than  of  pres 
ent  feeling. 


48  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

' '  They  were  very  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  boy, ' '  said 
Geoffrey,  with  a  sigh.  "  But  it  is  so  long  since  they  have 
seen  me  that  they  must  have  forgotten  me.  You  have  a 
large  party. ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  they  have  been  coming  in  all  the  afternoon. 
I  think  that  it  will  be  very  pleasant  when  we  get  well 
shaken  together.  You  see  your  old  friend,  Sir  John 
Dacre,  over  there,  do  you  not  ?  away  over  at  the  end  of 
the  other  rooms.  The  fine-looking  girl  to  whom  he  is 
talking  is  Richard  Lincoln's  daughter." 

Geoffrey  looked  in  the  direction,  and  saw  the  back  of 
Sir  John  Dacre' s  head  as  he  bent  over  to  speak  to  Miss 
Lincoln. 

He  made  a  little  start  to  go  over  to  greet  his  friend. 
Miss  Windsor  saw  it,  and  said  :  ' '  You  will  see  Sir  John 
after  dinner,  Lord  Brompton  ;  you  would  interrupt  a  pleas 
ant  conversation  now  by  being  that  wretched  third  who 
makes  a  '  company '  a  crowd  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  you 
would  destroy  all  the  proportion  of  the  party  by  leaving  me 
alone.  You  must  sit  on  the  sofa  here  by  my  side,  and  I 
will  point  out  all  the  people  to  you.  You  will  not  sit  any 
where  near  me,  you  know,  at  dinner,  as  you  will  take  in 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  as  I  told  you  this  morning.  * ' 

Geoffrey  sat  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  and  looked  about 
the  room. 

"  I  do  not  see  the  great  professional  beauty  in  this  room, 
Miss  Windsor, ' '  he  said,  after  he  had  finished  his  inspec 
tion  of  the  people  present,  who  seemed  plunged  in  the 
depths  of  that  gloom  which  always  hangs  over  a  party 
before  a  dinner. 

Richard  Lincoln,  who  had  been  touched  by  her  Grace's 
melancholy,  stood  talking  to  her.  In  the  opposite  corner 


' '  JA  WKINS '  S  J  OLLITIES. ' '  49 

of  the  room  sat  Mr.  James  Sydney,  the  celebrated  wit,  his 
pasty  face  wearing  an  air  of  settled  melancholy,  while  he 
gazed  vacantly  at  a  curious  old  Turner,  which  glowed  like 
an  American  sunset  against  the  stamped-leather  hangings 
of  the  room. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he  looks  like  the  clown  before  he  is 
painted,"  whispered  Miss  Windsor. 

Mr.  Prouty,  the  Saturday  Reviewer,  sat  on  a  "  conversa 
zione"  with  Lady  Carringford,  a  commonplace,  faded-out- 
looking  woman  of  forty,  with  bleached  hair.  She  did  not 
seem  much  pleased  by  the  conversation  of  the  journalist, 
and  looked  furtively  across  the  room  as  if  to  hint  that  she 
ought  to  be  relieved,  but  Herr  Diddle]  and  Sydney  did  not 
see  her  signals  of  distress. 

Lord  Carringford,  her  husband,  a  tall,  keen-faced  man 
with  blue-black  side-whiskers  and  a  furtive  eye,  was  talk 
ing  with  Mr.  Windsor,  and  though  he  saw  his  wife's  sig 
nals,  of  course,  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  them.  The 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in  rusty  clerical  garb,  smiled 
benignly  at  the  whole  company. 

' '  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  is  far  too  clever  to  stay  in  the  glare 
of  a  great  room  like  this,"  said  Miss  Windsor  to  Geoffrey. 
"She  is  one  of  those  women  who  seek  a  corner  and  quiet 
and  flourish  there — not,  however,  alone.  She  is  in  the 
smaller  room  beyond,  with  Colonel  Featherstone,  who 
must  have  nearly  pulled  his  great  mustaches  out  by  this 
time.  You  know  how  he  twirls  and  twitches  them  when 
he  thinks  he  is  being  quite  irresistible,  just  as  you  are 
doing  now,  Lord  Brompton. " 

Geoffrey  dropped  his  hand  from  his  mustache  impatiently. 

"Ah,  you  are  always  chaffing  me,  Miss  Windsor,"  he 
pleaded. 


So  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

"  I  knew  very  well  what  you  were  thinking,  sir.  That 
you  could  cut  Colonel  Featherstone  out  in  no  time. 
Now,  were  you  not  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  I  was  thinking  of  you.  Were  not  my 
languishing  glances  turned  toward  you  ?" 

' '  Yes,  but  the  languish  was  all  for  Mrs.  Oswald,  and 
not  for  me.  But  it  is  time  to  go  to  dinner  now,  Lord 
Brompton.  You  are  permitted  to  disturb  the  tite-a-lete 
and  Mrs.  Carey's  peace  of  mind." 

' '  If  you  send  me  away,  I  suppose  that  I  must  obey.  A 
hostess  is  a  despot  whom  no  one  may  defy." 

Miss  Windsor  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  Duke  of  Bays- 
water,  who  just  then  offered  her  his  arm  with  great  solem 
nity.  Geoffrey  bowed  to  her  and  the  Duke,  and  walked 
slowly  into  the  adjoining  room. 

In  a  dimly-lighted  corner  he  saw  a  tall,  heavily-built 
man,  with  a  long  red  mustache,  talking  to  a  remarkably 
beautiful  woman. 

"Mis.  Carey  and  old  Charlie  Featherstone?"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  stopped  to  look  at  them  and  to  await  a 
pause  in  their  conversation  before  he  interrupted  them. 

"  Why,  it  is  Eleanor  Leigh  !"  he  exclaimed  a  moment 
later,  as  she  turned  her  head  from  the  shadow  of  a  great 
Japanese  screen,  behind  which  the  pair  had  sought  shelter 
from  prying  eyes. 

"  Eleanor  Leigh,  my  old  sweetheart,  to  whom  I  bade 
farewell  in  the  dark  library  of  my  old  tutor' s  home,  seven 
years  ago. ' ' 

She  did  not  look  in  his  direction,  and  he  had  a  few 
moments  to  observe  her  carefully. 

The  slender  girl  whom  he  remembered  had  grown  into 
a  superb  woman.  Her  head  was  poised  upon  her  shoul- 


' '  JA  WKINS '  S  J  OLLITIESr  5 1 

ders  like  that  of  a  Greek  goddess,  and  around  her  white 
throat  gleamed  a  collar  of  brilliants.  A  tightly-fitting 
black  gown  made  by  contrast  her  bosom  and  arms  dazzling 
in  whiteness.  Her  hair  was  rolled  into  a  large  round  knot 
at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  its  coils  shone  red-brown  in 
the  soft  glow  of  the  candles.  Her  face  seemed  cold  and 
calm  to  him  as  he  looked  at  her,  a  faint,  mocking  smile 
played  upon  her  full,  red  lips,  and  her  delicate  eyebrows 
were  slightly  raised.  All  of  a  sudden  she  turned  toward 
him,  and  their  eyes  met  in  a  flash  of  recognition.  He  re 
membered  those  eyes  well,  but  here  was  something  in  them 
which  was  not  there  when  his  brain  last  thrilled  with  their 
magnetic  glances — a  something  which  he  could  not  under 
stand,  but  which  repelled  him.  She  raised  her  hand  and 
seemed  to  beckon  to  him,  and  he  obeyed  her  command. 

1 '  You  remember  me,  then,  Lord  Brompton, ' '  she  said 
coldly,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  Remember  you  !"  he  exclaimed,  and  was  at  a  loss  for 
words.  Featherstone,  who  had  withdrawn  a  step  or  two, 
seemed  to  see  his  confusion,  and  after  welcoming  his  old 
friend  back  to  England  went  away. 

Mrs.  Carey  looked  up  at  Geoffrey  with  a  mccking  smile, 
as  if  deriding  his  embarrassment.  "So  we  meet  again 
after  all  these  years,  Geoffrey?"  He  looked  down  at  the 
floor,  confused  and  shame-faced,  as  he  thought  of  the 
time  when  he  had  gone  up  to  Oxford  from  her  father's 
house  with  her  image  in  his  heart.  She,  too,  was  think 
ing  of  those  days  of  fresh  spring-time.  ' '  He  is  not  much 
changed, ' '  she  thought,  ' '  save  that  he  looks  tired  and  dis 
couraged  ;  then  his  eyes  were  bright,  looking,  as  they 
were,  into  a  world  where  everything  seemed  easy  and  full 
of  pleasure  to  him.  " 


52  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

1 '  We  are  both  thinking  of  the  old  days, ' '  she  said  to 
him,  as  she  pulled  a  rose  from  her  belt,  and  nervously 
crumpled  its  petals  between  her  fingers.  "  Ah,  how  I 
wept  when  you  ceased  writing  to  me  !" 

"  I  do  not  imagine  that  you  ever  wept  any  bitter  tears 
on  my  account,"  remonstrated  Geoffrey.  "  I  was  a  mere 
boy  then  ;  and  a  girl  of  eighteen  can  hold  her  own  with  a 
man  of  any  age,  while  a  boy  of  eighteen  can  no  more  look 
after  himself  in  a  love  affair  than  a — " 

"  Boy  of  any  other  age,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Carey. 
"  Ah,  Geoffrey,  I  did  weep  then  more  than  you  can  im 
agine.  But  I  have  always  remembered  you  as  a  dear  boy, 
who  loved  me  a  little  and  forgot  me  when  he  was  away. 
Men  are  deceivers  ever,  and  I  fancy  that  I  am  not  the  last 
woman  whom  you  have  loved  a  little  and  forgotten  since. 
But  the  others  are  going  in  to  dinner.  It  is  a  motley 
party,  is  it  not  ?  Just  fancy  Richard  Lincoln's  being  here, 
and  the  old  Duke,  and  John  Dacre,  too.  Why  is  he  here  ? 
Do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  since  I  first  went  to  Paris,"  an 
swered  Geoffrey,  as  he  offered  her  his  arm. 

The  pair  walked  in  to  dinner  in  their  proper  place  in  the 
procession. 

'  "  What  a  beautiful  old  room  this  is  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Carey  as  they  entered  the  dining-hall.  "  Jawkins  does 
this  sort  of  thing  so  well  !  How  perfectly  he  reproduces 
the  courtly  state  of  the  last  century  when  he  re-establishes 
a  house !" 

Geoffrey  had  not  been  in  this  room  since  the  day  when 
he  had  been  called  from  Oxford  by  a  telegram  announcing 
his  father's  sudden  death.  Then  the  room  had  been  dark 
and  there  was  a  hush  over  it,  and  the  servants  had  moved 


' '  JA  WKINS ' S   J OLLITIES: '  53 

stealthily  over  the  oaken  floor,  and  he  had  sat  by  tne  win 
dow  listening  to  the  slow  words  of  the  family  lawyer,  which 
told  him  that  he  was  the  heir  of  a  ruined  estate. 

He  winced  as  he  seated  himself  by  Mrs.  Carey's  side,  a 
guest  at  the  great  table  at  which  his  forebears  had  broken 
bread  as  almost  princely  hosts.  The  party  had  entered, 
and  sat  down  in  silence,  and,  after  unfolding  their  napkins, 
looked  rather  gloomily  at  each  other  for  a  while,  but  Mr. 
Jawkins  soon  broke  into  an  easy  conversational  canter,  and 
the  rest  of  the  party  by  the  time  that  the  champagne  ap 
peared  with  the  fish  found  that  their  tongues  were  loos 
ened.  The  old  Duke,  who  always  loved  a  pretty  face  and 
brilliant  eyes,  got  on  capitally  with  Miss  Windsor,  and 
seemed  to  forget  his  fallen  dignity  and  the  mournful  face 
of  his  consort,  as  he  said  pretty  things  to  the  beautiful 
American. 

' '  I  had  a  great  curiosity  to  see  Mr.  Windsor  before  I 
came  here, ' '  whispered  Mrs.  Carey  to  Geoffrey.  ' '  He 
has  a  strong  face,  has  he -not  ?  They  say  that  he  is  so  rich 
that  he  does  not  know  how  much  he  is  worth,  and  that  he 
has  made  all  his  money  himself. ' ' 

' '  I  suppose  that  somebody  has  got  all  the  money  that 
we  people  in  England  have  lost  or  spent,"  she  continued, 
with  a  woman's  idea  of  political  economy.  *'  Isn't  it  all 
dreadful  ?  I  suppose  that  you  are  a  —  What  shall  I  say, 
a  guest?" 

' '  Why  should  you  not  say  a  guest,  since  we  certainly  are 
at  Mr.  Windsor's  table  ?"  he  asked,  as  if  innocently. 

'*  Ah,  you  must  know  what  I  mean  ;  one  of  Mr.  Jaw- 
kins's  list.  Just  think  of  the  poor  Duke  and  Duchess  being 
on  it — the  proudest  family  in  England.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  thing  ?" 


54  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

44  The  aristocrats  during  the  French  Revolution  were 
reduced  to  as  desperate  shifts/'  answered  Geoffrey.  "  We, 
at  least,  are  not  banished  from  our  country  and  can 
earn  our  living,  if  we  choose,  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  by 
the  sweat  of  our  brows.  I  have  been  digging  in  my  vege 
table  garden  this  summer  ;  you  know  that  I  have  five  acres 
left,  and  what  with  fishing — and  don't  mention  it,  pray — a 
little  poaching,  I  have  got  along  pretty  well.  I  knew  Mr. 
Windsor  in  Paris,  when  I  was  on  the  Legation  there." 

"And  you  were  put  out  of  the  service  by  that  old 
brute,  Bagshaw.  What  an  odious  thing  this  Republican 
form  of  government  is  !  You  know  poor  Oswald  was  in 
the  Stamp  and  Sealing-wax  Office.  Oswald  is  a  Legiti 
mist,  of  course,  and  would  not  pay  the  assessment  which 
was  levied  upon  him  by  the  Radical  party,  and  he  was 
ousted  last  spring." 

' '  Is  your  husband  here  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  They  do  not  wish  me  if  I  take  Oswald 
along  with  me.  He  is  in  our  lodgings  in  London.  He 
quite  misses  the  office  in  the  daytime,  as  he  cannot  sleep 
nearly  so  well  at  home.  Poor  Oswald  !  Mr.  Sydney," 
she  said,  turning  to  that  gentleman,  who  had  sat  in  silence 
at  her  side,  "  I  thought  that  you  always  kept  the  table  in  a 
roar?" 

"  How  can  a  man  do  that  when  he  is  expected  to,"  an 
swered  Sydney,  gloomily.  "I  am  always  saddest  at 
dinner,  for  I  know  that  I  have  been  asked  because  there  is 
a  tradition  in  society  that  I  am  a  wit.  If  I  speak  of  the 
gloomiest  subjects  people  snicker  ;  if  I  am  eloquent  or 
pathetic,  they  roar.  I  am  by  nature  rather  a  lyric  poet 
than  a  wit— ah,  you  are  laughing,  Mrs.  Carey,  you  are 
laughing.  What  did  I  tell  you  ?" 


'S  JOLLITIES:'  ss 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Sydney,  you  are  funny,  really  you 
are." 

"  I  am  funny  because  I  mean  to  be  serious,"  said  Mr. 
Sydney.  "  In  these  days  of  the  decadence  of  civilization 
if  a  man  is  in  earnest,  terribly  in  earnest,  people  think  that 
he  is  vastly  amusing.  I  shall  try  to  be  funny  soon,  to 
earn  my  wage,  and  people  will  think  me  dull  enough  then. " 

The  poor  man  drank  a  large  glass  of  wine  and  pointing 
at  the  entree  upon  his  plate  asked  : 

"  Mrs.  Carey,  can  a  man  who  expects  daily  to  be  gath 
ered  to  his  fathers  eat  a  vol-au-vent  of  pigeons  a  la  finan 
cier  e  i>  How  can  it  be  expected  ?  They  should  not  tempt 
me  with  such  dishes.  I  know  that  I  ought  not  to  eat 
them,  but  I  cannot  resist.  I  partake  of  them  and  I  do 
not  sleep.  I  have  not  closed  my  eyes  for  three  nights. " 

He  began  to  eat  his  vol-au-vent  with  the  appetite  of  a  boy 
of  fourteen. 

"  Poor  old  fellow,"  whispered  Mrs.  Carey  to  Geoffrey. 
"  He  knows  that  he  must  be  amusing  on  this  visit  else 
Jawkins  will  strike  him  off  his  list.  It  is  lucky  that  I 
only  have  to  look  beautiful.  It  is  no  exertion  whatever. 
While  poor  old  Sydney  knows  that  something  is  expected 
of  him,  and  as  he  naturally  likes  to  talk  about  statistics 
and  his  physical  ailments,  and  as  he  gained  his  reputa 
tion  as  a  wit  from  a  single  repartee  made  at  a  dinner 
twenty  years  ago,  he  finds  it  hard  to  fulfil  his  part. 
He  is  simply  funny  because  he  isn't.  It's  a  strange 
paradox." 

"  It  must,  indeed,  be  a  hard  task,  making  one's  self  a 
brick  without  straw,"  answered  Geoffrey.  ;'  Think  of  not 
having  the  luxury  of  being  disagreeable — to  be  always  on 
the  rack  to  perpetrate  a  joke,  Mrs.  Carey." 


56  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

'  *  You  did  not  call  me  Mrs.  Carey  when  we  last  met, ' ' 
she  said,  reproachfully. 

"  But  you  were  not  Mrs.  Carey  then,  and,  not  being  a 
prophet,  I  could  not  very  well  call  you  so. ' ' 

"  Do  not  be  flippant.  But  if  we  were  prophets  what  a 
dreadful  thing  life  would  be  !  It  did  not  seem  possible 
seven  years  ago  that  Eleanor  Leigh  would  become  a  pro- 
fessional  beauty,  a  hired  guest,  who  lived  upon  the  royalty 
from  the  sale  of  her  photographs. ' ' 

:<  You  can  congratulate  yourself  that  yours  is  the  only 
'  royalty  '  left  in  the  country,  Eleanor."  He  lowered  his 
voice  as  he  spoke  her  name. 

"  I  will  not  talk  about  myself,"  she  said,  in  a  cold,  hard 
tone.  "  That's  a  man's  prerogative.  But  I  wish  you, 
when  we  are  alone,  to  tell  me  all  about  your  life.  The 
lines  of  our  lives,  which  once  bade  fair  to  run  along 
together,  have  diverged  ;  but  fate  is  strong.  We  are 
thrown  together  again.  I  know  not  whether  it  matters  to 
you  that  we  have  met  again,  but  it  does  very  much  to  me. 
I  wish  to  know  what  you  have  been  doing  all  these  years. 
To-morrow,  surely,  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  see  each 
other,  and  till  then  let  us  change  the  subject,  for  if  the 
walls  have  not  ears,  Mr.  Sydney  certainly  has,  and  very 
large  and  ugly  ones,  too,  like  a  lop-eared  rabbit's." 

Geoffrey  looked  with  a  smile  at  poor  Mr.  Sydney's  villi- 
fied  ears,  and  said  to  himself  that  the  unfortunate  wit 
never  could  live  in  much*  comfort  upon  the  royalties  from 
the  sale  of  his  picture.  Mrs.  Carey  looked  around  the 
table  searchingly.  Her  quick  wit  was  tickled  by  the  curi 
ous  incongruities  of  the  scene  ;  by  Richard  Lincoln  talk 
ing  small  nothings  to  the  Duchess  of  Bayswater  across  the 
rich  American  ;  by  the  genial  and  smirking  Jawkins,  seated 


' '  JA  WKINS '  S  J  OLLITIES: '  57 

between  Sir  John  Dacre  and  that  pink  of  fashion,  Colonel 
Featherstone  ;  by  Lady  Carringford,  who  was  between  the 
indifferent  Colonel  and  the  Duke  ;  by  the  three  members 
of  the  artiste  class,  Prouty,  Diddlej  and  Sydney,  whom  Mr. 
Jawkins  had  placed  together  with  delicate  discrimination. 
Mrs.  Carey  gave  a  little  shrug  at  perceiving  that  she,  too, 
was  put  in  the  same  neighborhood.  Lord  Carringford  and 
the  Duchess  seemed  to  be  getting  along  uncommonly  well 
together.  Sir  John  Dacre  ignored  his  dapper  neighbor, 
Jawkins,  and  was  absorbed  in  conversation  with  beautiful 
Mary  Lincoln,  who  blushed  whenever  she  caught  her 
father's  eye  looking  questioningly  at  her.  Mrs.  Carey's 
glance  over  the  table  was  at  first  cursory;  she  had  been  so 
much  interested  in  meeting  Geoffrey  that  the  tide  of  old 
feelings,  surging  back  through  her  brain,  had  driven  out 
all  thought  of  the  other  people,  for  in  the  heart  of  this 
woman  of  the  world,  who  had  lived  in  ball-rooms  and  in 
the  maddest  whirl  of  that  most  mad  and  material  of  all 
things,  modern  society,  where  love  is  a  plaything  and  an 
excitement  only,  there  had  lingered  a  fond  remembrance 
of  the  ardent  young  lover,  whose  boyish  affection  for  her, 
absence  had  so  quickly  cooled.  Through  all  his  wanderings 
she  had  managed  to  trace  him.  The  world  of  society  is 
small.  She  had  heard  of  his  affair  with  Miss  Windsor  in 
Paris  two  years  before  •;  so  her  eyes,  after  wandering  over 
the  table,  fixed  themselves  upon  her.  With  a  woman's 
instinct,  Mrs.  Carey  had  known  that  Geoffrey  would  not 
have  been  so  indifferent  to  her  if  he  had  been  fancy  free  ; 
when  she  first  saw  him,  before  dinner,  her  heart  throbbed 
with  passion,  and  she  determined  to  wind  around  him  again 
the  chain  of  flowers  which  he  had  snapped  so  easily  when 
the  great  god  of  modern  love,  "Juxtaposition,"  deserted 


58  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

her.  But  now  she  saw  that  he  had  long  since  ceased  to 
care  for  her.  He  had  called  her  "  Eleanor"  once,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  it  was  only  after  she  had  forced  his  hand. 

She  picked  up  the  large  bouquet  of  roses  which  lay  by 
her  plate,  and  raising  them  to  her  face  as  if  to  inhale  their 
fragrance,  she  attentively  observed  Miss  Windsor,  for  she 
felt  that  there  must  be  something  between  her  and  Geoffrey  ; 
some  tie  stronger  than  the  memory  of  a  dead  flirtation. 
Her  masked  battery  served  her  purpose  well,  for  Maggie, 
presently,  after  smiling  faintly  at  some  remark  of  Mr. 
Prouty's,  looked  quickly  over  toward  Lord  Brompton,  who 
was  at  the  time  listening  attentively  to  a  political  conversa 
tion  between  Mr.  Lincoln  and  Mr.  Windsor.  Maggie 
only  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  but  Mrs.  Carey  saw  that 
she  looked  at  him  with  that  fondness  with  which  a  woman 
gazes  at  the  man  she  loves  when  she  thinks  that  she  is  un 
observed.  Mrs.  Carey  put  down  her  bouquet  and  turned 
to  Geoffrey. 

"  Miss  Windsor  is  not  a  bad-looking  girl,  is  she?"  she 
asked. 

"You  put  me  in  an  awkward  dilemma,  Mrs.  Carey," 
replied  Geoffrey,  a  little  nervously,  "  in  the  alternative  of 
criticising  my  hostess  unfavorably  or  praising  the  looks  of 
one  woman  to  another.  Is  that  quite  fair  ?" 

' '  Her  features  are  not  regular,  yet  she  seems  attractive 
in  a  way,"  she  continued,  not  waiting  for  his  answerer 
answering  his  question.  ' '  You  knew  her  before,  did  you 
not?" 

"Yes,  slightly." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  had  a  desperate  affair  with 
her?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  jump  at  conclusions." 


' '  JA  WKINS '  S  J  OLLITIES. "  59 

"  Not  at  all.  She  is  interested  in  you  ;  I  have  eyes  in 
my  head." 

"  I  should  think  that  you  had,"  laughed  Geoffrey,  as 
their  glances  met. 

11  And  I  have  noticed  that  she  has  been  continually 
looking  over  toward  us.  The  old  Duke  has  not  been 
lively,  you  see,  and  that  Saturday  Reviewer  is  a  disagree 
able  thing.  How  she  has  longed  to  have  you  next  to 
her!" 

"  You  flatter  me,  Mrs.  Carey,"  answered  Geoffrey,  who 
was  annoyed,  as  all  men  are,  when  they  are  accused  of 
being  too  fascinating.  ' '  Miss  Windsor  and  I  were  great 
friends,  nothing  more. " 

"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  of  course  you  were  nothing  more. 
To  be  great  friends  is  enough  ;  so  you  own  up  to  the  seri 
ous  affair  ?  You  think  that  she  isn'  t  watching  you — look. ' ' 

Geoffrey  glanced  up  and  caught  Miss  Windsor's  eye. 
She  colored,  turned  away,  and  said  something  to  the  Sat 
urday  Reviewer,  who  had  before  found  his  satirical  remarks 
thrown  away  on  his  distraite  hostess. 

"  See  that  fine  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks,"  said  Mrs. 
Carey. 

"  She  sees  that  we  are  talking  about  her  and  feels  a  little 
self-consciousness.  The  Americans  are  not  so  self-pos 
sessed  as  we  are. ' ' 

"Why  do  you  not  marry  her?"  she  continued,  not 
heeding  him.  "  She  has  money,  is  not  at  all  bad-looking. 
There  is  nothing  else  for  you  to  do,  and  you  cannot  long 
go  on  as  you  are  now,  I  fancy. ' ' 

Geoffrey  grew  red  and  confused.  He  tried  to  make  a 
clever  answer.  She  had  such  an  air  of  graceful  badinage, 
as  she  asked  the  question,  that  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that 


60  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

he  had  a  right  to  be  angry,  and  yet  he  did  feel  so.  It  an 
noyed  him  very  much  to  be  chaffed  about  Miss  Windsor  ; 
to  have  this  cold  woman  of  the  world  suggest  to  him  that 
he  should  marry  the  young  American  girl  for-  her  money. 

Mrs.  Carey  laughed  slightly,  and  seeing  that  she  had 
pressed  her  advantage  too  far,  turned  to  a  congenial  diver 
sion  with  Sydney,  who  had  by  this  time  dined  well  and 
thoughtfully.  She  clinked  his  glass  of  Burgundy  lightly 
with  him  in  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  way,  and  Sydney's  eyes 
sparkled  ;  he  drained  his  glass. 

Sir  John  Dacre  had  seen  Geoffrey  when  the  party  sat 
down  at  the  table  ;  but  it  so  chanced  that  he  did  not  catch 
his  eye  until  just  now.  The  two  men  had  not  met  for 
years,  and  even  now  the  conventions  of  society  and  six  feet 
of  mahogany  kept  them  separated  more  effectually  than 
miles  of  country.  They  smiled  and  nodded,  however,  and 
Dacre  raised  his  glass  of  wine,  and  the  two  pledged  each 
other's  health  in  some  old  comet  claret  of  1912. 

"  Who  is  the  man  who  just  smiled  at  you,  Mr.  Dacre  ?" 
asked  Miss  Lincoln. 

"  My  dear  old  friend,  Lord  Brompton— Geoffrey  Ripon 
you  would  call  him,  perhaps.  I  am  downright  glad  to  see 
him  here  to-night.  Indeed,  I  came  down  to  this  part  of 
the  country  to  see  him." 

Miss  Lincoln  seemed  chagrined. 

"  You  must  be  very  much  attached  to  him,  then,  Mr. 
Dacre." 

' '  Yes,  of  course  I  am  ;  and  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
some  years.  He  has  not  changed  much." 

"If  he  is  Geoffrey  Ripon,  Earl  of  Brompton,  it  is  to 
him  that  this  estate  used  to  belong,  then  ?' ' 

"  Yes,  Miss  Lincoln,  in  his  father's  day  it  was  a  beauti- 


"JAWKINS'S  JOLLITIES."  61 

ful  place  ;  there  were  none  of  these  modern  gewgaws  here. 
The  old  earl  would  have  starved  to  death  rather  than  have 
dined  in  a  room  lighted  by  the  electric  light.  I  used  to 
stay  here  as  a  boy  ;  indeed,  I  am  a  kinsman  of  the  family. 
I  was  here  last  some  years  before  the  old  gentleman' s  death. 
He  lived  on  here  for  years  without  hearing  from  the  out 
side  world.  He  even  gave  up  "the  Times,  and  would  not 
have  anything  in  the  house  which  was  written  since  the 
abdication.  He  refused  to  acknowledge  the  existence  of  a 
country  which  had  exiled  his  king." 

Miss  Lincoln  blushed  a  little  as  she  said  : 

"  Do  we  not  owe  our  allegiance  to  our  country,  Mr. 
Dacre,  as  it  is  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  our  duty  to  do 
what  we  can  for  it." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Lincoln,  I  am  afraid  that  we  are  treading  on 
dangerous  ground.  Your  father  and  I  respect  each  other 
as  foes,  whose  swords  have  crossed,  always  do  ;  but  it  is 
not  fitting  that  his  daughter  and  I  should  discuss  this 
matter.  Do  you  notice  how  intently  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey 
watches  Miss  Windsor  ?  I  wonder  why  ?' ' 

"  I  have  noticed  it,  Mr.  Dacre,"  answered  Miss  Lin 
coln.  ' '  Just  now  she  guarded  her  face  with  her  bunch  of 
roses,  that  Miss  Windsor  might  not  perceive  her  scrutiny, 
and  her  look  is  not  a  friendly  one." 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  tiger,"  said  Sir  John,  "  not  a  do 
mestic  cat,  as  many  women  are  ;  and  she  means  mischief 
when  her  eyes  fix  upon  any  one  in  that  way/' 

Miss  Lincoln  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  for  he  spoke 
earnestly,  more  earnestly  than  he  knew  himself ;  for  some 
thing  told  him  that  the  beautiful  woman  with  the  black 
gown  and  gleaming  shoulders,  sitting  opposite  to  him,  was 
dangerous  to  him  and  his  friends. 


62  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

The  dinner  was  over  ;  the  ladies  swept  from  the  room, 
Mrs.  Carey  following  close  at  Miss  Windsor's  side. 

When  the  men  had  returned  to  sole  possession  of  the 
dining-room  the  company  separated  into  little  groups. 
Jawkins  fastened  upon  the  Duke,  whom  Mr.  Windsor 
relinquished  with  ill-concealed  delight.  Herr  Diddle]  sat 
turning  a  lump  of  sugar  with  brandy  in  his  coffee  spoon, 
and  smoking  cigarettes,  which  he  rapidly  rolled  with  his 
yellow-stained  damp  fingers.  Mr.  Lincoln  sat  with  Syd 
ney,  who  forgot  his  hypochondria  over  his  cigar  and  be 
came  quite  amusing,  as  the  smile  upon  Lincoln's  shrewd, 
kindly  face  testified,  for  Richard  Lincoln  was  a  flint  upon 
which  all  intellectual  steel  struck  fire. 

Sir  John  Dacre  and  Geoffrey  grasped  each  other's  hand 
with  a  firm  grip,  and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  in 
silence  for  a  moment. 

"  I  came  down  here  to  see  you,  Geoffrey,  because  I 
need  you." 

' '  You  know,  John,  that  I  am  at  your  service,  now  and 
always. ' ' 

"  It  is  not  my  service,  Geoffrey, ' '  said  Dacre.  ' '  But 
later  for  this.  Here  comes  old  Featherstone  ;  we  have 
come  down  here  together.  Here,  let  us  get  on  the  sofa  ; 
it  is  the  same  one  we  used  to  sit  on  when  we  came  here 
in  the  hunting  season  in  your  father' s  day. ' ' 

"  I  did  not  have  a  chance  to  say  anything  to  you  while 
the  ladies  were  present,"  said  Featherstone,  sitting  down 
between  his  friends.  ' '  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  I  had 
heard  nothing  about  you  since  you  left  Paris.  They  tell 
me  that  you  are  living  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Yes,  just  over  there,"  indicated  Geoffrey  with  his 
thumb.  "  You  are  to  stop  three  days,  I  hear.  You  must 


' '  JA  IVKINS '  S  J  OLLITIESr  63 

both  come  to  see  me.     You  will  be  my  first  guests  since  I 
came  back  to  my  estate." 

"  You  look  as  well  as  ever,"  said  Featherstone.  "  But 
how  we  have  made  the  running  the  wrong  way,  to  be  sure, 
since  I  last  saw  you." 

Featherstone  made  a  gesture  with  his  left  hand,  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  his  friends  ;  but  Geoffrey,  though  he 
noticed  the  gesture,  did  not  attach  any  significance  to  it. 

He  raised  his  glass  of  port  over  a  carafe  of  water.  "  The 
King,"  he  said. 

All  three  drank,  and  Dacre  whispered,  "  No  more  of 
this,  Featherstone.  I  shall  see  Geoffrey  this  evening  ;  he 
is  not  one  of  us  yet." 

"What  an  attractive  woman  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  is!" 
exclaimed  Featherstone.  "  You  knew  her  before,  did  you 
not,  Geoffrey?" 

"  I  was  her  father's  pupil  before  I  went  to  Oxford." 

1 '  And  knew  the  goddess  when  she  was  budding  into 
womanhood.  I  can  see  it  all.  You  fell  in  love  with  her, 
of  course,  cherished  a  locket  in  your  left-hand  waistcoat 
pocket  for  some  weeks  after  you  left  her  father' s  tutelage. 
I  don't  blame  you.  I  never  saw  a  woman  who  made  one's 
blood  course  faster." 

Featherstone  stretched  out  his  long  legs  and  arms  and 
pulled  away  at  his  cigar,  a  queer  smile  playing  over  his 
mouth. 

"  She  is  a  woman  whom  it  is  delightful  to  have  been  or 
be  in  love  with,"  he  continued  ;  "  but  to  marry — ah  !  I 
do  not  envy  Oswald  Carey.  He  simply  gives  his  name  up 
to  have  a  Mrs.  put  before  it.  By  the  way,  our  hostess  is 
an  interesting  girl.  I  like  the  old  man,  too.  It  is  refresh 
ing  to  see  a  man  who  has  opened  his  oyster  after  living 


64  THE  KING'S  MEN, 

among  such  a  broken-down  lot  as  we  all  are.  I  wish  that 
he  could  give  me  a  point  or  two  ;  they  say  that  he  can 
make  a  million  by  turning  over  his  hand.  Think  of  it 
There  are  a  lot  of  fellows  who  can  lose  one 'by  the  same 
simple  process." 

Geoffrey  did  not  answer  ;  he  felt  silent  and  depressed 
since  the  ladies  had  left  the  room,  and  his  cigar  seemed  to 
him  to  be  altogether  too  long.  It  is  a  bad  sign  when  a 
man's  cigar  seems  too  long  to  him,  and  when  he  tells  you 
that  he  never  knew  until  lately  how  offensive  the  odor  of 
tobacco  was  to  a  refined  woman  you  may  know  that  all  is 
up  with  him.  Featherstone,  on  the  other  hand,  smoked 
his  cigar,  slowly  and  reverently,  like  a  liberty-loving  and 
untrammelled  gentleman. 

Geoffrey  walked  out  to  the  great  hall,  where  he  found 
the  ladies  gathered  around  the  fireplace.  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey  sat  near  the  Duchess,  and  was  talking  with  her. 
The  old  lady  did  not  seem  pleased  with  her  new  compan 
ion,  and  smiled  pleasantly  at  Geoffrey,  when  she  saw  him 
approach.  Miss  Windsor  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  some 
what  removed  from  the  other  two.  Geoffrey,  after  a  few 
words  of  greeting  to  the  Duchess,  approached  Miss 
Windsor. 

"  You  did  not  linger  over  your  cigar  like  the  rest,  I 
see,"  she  said  to  him,  as  he  sat  down  by  her.  "  Tobacco 
is  a  woman's  most  formidable  rival,  but  the  charms  of 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  are  strong  enough  to  draw  you  in  here  ! 
Perhaps  you  will  have  a  cup  of  coffee  to  make  up  for  your 
deprivation." 

16  Thank  you,  Miss  Windsor;  one  lump.  But  I  did 
not  come  in  to  see  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey.  I  had  the  pleas 
ure  of  sitting  next  her  at  dinner." 


< '  JA  WKINS '  S  J  OLLITIES: '  65 

"  We  are  going  to-morrow  on  a  drive  to  the  ruins  of 
Chichester  Cathedral.  If  you  have  nothing  to  prevent  you, 
will  you  not  join  us  ?" 

Geoffrey  accepted  the  invitation. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  there  are  so  few  ladies/'  continued 
Miss  Windsor  ;  "we  can  make  up  a  coach-load,  however, 
and  you  may  drive,  if  you  wish  it.  Of  course,  you  can 
then  have  Mrs.  Oswald  on  the  box-seat  with  you,  and  then 
you  will  be  sure  to  have  a  good  time." 

' '  Oh,  Featherstone  can  drive  much  better  than  I, ' '  an 
swered  Geoffrey  ;  "  I  have  not  driven  four-in-hand  since  I 
lived  in  this  house.  I  should  much  prefer  to  be  upon  one 
of  the  seats  with  you." 

The  men  trailed  into  the  hall  awkwardly,  bringing  a  fine 
perfume  of  tobacco  along  with  them.  They  stood  around 
for  a  moment,  getting  themselves  into  the  position  of  the 
social  soldier. 

Herr  Diddlej  seated  himself  before  the  piano,  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  long  hair,  and  was  soon  weeping  over  a 
sonata  of  his  own  composition. 

Dacre,  who  was  standing  apart  from  the  others,  before  a 
picture,  in  a  dark  recess  of  the  hall,  was  approached  by  a 
footman,  who  made  a  quick  sign  to  him,  a  sign  such  as 
Featherstone  had  made  to  Geoffrey  a  few  moments  before. 

Sir  John  answered,  and  the  servant,  in  handing  him  a 
cup  of  coffee,  slipped  a  note  into  his  hand.  The  footman 
went  on  handing  the  coffee,  calm  and  unmoved 

Dacre,  after  glancing  at  the  letter,  thrust  it  into  his  waist 
coat  pocket,  and  furtively  glanced  at  Geoffrey.  The  latter 
excused  himself  to  Miss  Windsor. 

1 '  I  wish  to  have  a  long  and  private  conversation  with 
you,"  said  Dacre  to  him,  "  and  when  you  take  your  leave 


66  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

I  will  walk  over  with  you  to  your  house,  where  we  can  talk 
together. 

Mrs.  Carey,  before  the  party  broke  up,  excused  herself 
on  the  grounds  of  a  severe  headache  and  retired  to  her 
room.  She  sat  there  for  some  time  looking  out  upon  the 
ocean  and  the  moon-glade,  glistening  and  twisting  over  the 
waves  like  a  great  serpent.  Of  a  sudden  she  threw  over 
her  shoulders  a  thick  cloak,  and,  by  a  dark  back  passage 
of  the  old  house,  stole  out  into  the  moonlight.  She  felt  a 
desire  to  walk  along  the  cliff  and  to  soothe  her  nerves  with 
the  deep  booming  of  the  waves  along  its  base.  And,  per 
haps,  she  might  meet  Geoffrey  on  his  way  home,  she 
thought,  not  forgetting  the  potency  of  moonlight  and  the 
great  Love  God,  "  Juxtaposition." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    ROYALISTS. 

IT  was  a  clear,  cold  night  as  the  two  strangely  dissimilar 
friends,  Dacre  and  Geoffrey,  emerged  from  the  shadow  of 
Ripon  Wood  and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  cliff  path 
looking  down  at  the  unquiet  sea,  which  was  still  heaving 
and  breaking  from  the  force  of  the  day's  storm.  From  the 
horizon  before  them  the  full  moon  had  risen  about  two 
hand-breadths,  and  the  sky  was  all  barred  and  broken  with 
torn  clouds  moving  rapidly,  behind  which  the  moonlight 
filled  the  sky.  The  white  light  fell  on  the  black  sea 
like  spilled  silver,  and  made  a  glittering  road  across  the 
waves. 

Dacre  advanced  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  and  stood 
with  folded  arms,  looking  into  the  night  as  if  it  were  a  face 
or  scroll  to  be  read.  But  the  eye,  in  truth,  saw  not, 
though  the  thoughtless  sense  perceived  the  shifting  clouds 
and  tossing  sea.  The  vision  was  introspective  wholly.  It 
was  turned  on  a  wide  inner  field,  where  stood  arrayed,  like 
an  order  of  battle,  a  strange  array  of  Principles  and  Meth 
ods  and  Men. 

Dacre  was  at  work — at  the  work  he  loved  and  lived  for. 
The  enthusiast,  like  a  general,  was  reviewing  his  spiritual 
and  mental  troops — proudly  glancing  along  the  lines  before 


68  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

he  removed  the  screen  and  called  another  eye  to  behold. 
He  had  drawn  them  up,  with  their  banners,  to  fill*  Geof 
frey,  at  once,  with  his  own  confidence  and  knowledge — for 
it  was  knowledge  and  certitude,  not  opinion  or  fantasy, 
that  filled  him. 

John  Dacre  was  a  magnificent  dreamer,  and  he  saw  and 
lived  among  magnificent  visions.  The  spirit  that  had 
evoked  Royalty  and  Aristocracy  and  made  them  a  potent 
reality  for  twenty  centuries  burned  in  him  as  purely  as  in 
the  old  poet's  picture  of  King  Arthur. 

No  wrong  that  is  all  wrong  can  live  for  two  thousand 
years  and  bind  the  necks  of  men.  Royalty  was  the  first 
wave  of  the  rising  tide  of  humanity  ;  Aristocracy  was  the 
second.  Both  were  necessary — perhaps  natural.  But  the 
waves  fall  back  and  are  merged  when  the  risen  sea  itself 
laps  the  feet  of  the  precipice. 

It  is  hard  to  describe  Dacre' s  face  at  this  supreme  mo 
ment,  except  by  saying  that  it  was  visibly  lighted  with  an 
inner  light.  Standing  in  the  moonlight,  with  his  pale  feat 
ures  made  paler,  the  shadows  of  the  face  darker,  and  his 
tall  form  straight  and  moveless  as  a  statue,  from  the  inten 
sity  of  his  thought,  he  almost  startled  the  more  prosaic 
Geoffrey,  who  had  lingered  to  light  a  cigar  before  coming 
out  on  the  breezy  cliff  path. 

"  Hey  !  old  fellow  •  what  do  you  see  ?"  Geoffrey  asked 
as  he  came  up. 

But  he  had  to  speak  again,  laying  his  hand  on  Dacre' s 
shoulder  before  he  got  an  answer,  though  Dacre  had  noted 
the  question,  as  his  answer  showed  when  it  came. 

"  See  !  I  see  a  glorious  panorama, "  and  he  turned  and 
looked  at  Geoffrey,  still  with  arms  folded.  "  I  have 
seen  the  history  cf  our  country  stretched  out  like  a  ma£ 


THE  ROYALISTS.  69 

upon  the  sea.  I  saw  thereon  all  those  things  which  have 
made  England  famous  forever  among  the  nations — the 
kings,  the  nobles  and  the  people,  advancing  like  a  host 
from  the  darkness  to  the  light." 

"  Yes,  to  the  light  of  other  days.  But  you  know  that 
has  faded, ' '  said  Geoffrey,  as  he  buttoned  his  overcoat  and 
pulled  down  his  hat. 

"  No  ;  not  the  light  of  other  days,  but  the  light  of 
to-morrow,  which  never  fades. ' ' 

"  Well,  then,  I  don't  understand  you,  old  man  ;  that  is 
all,"  said  Geoffrey,  contentedly,  as  he  paced  along,  casting 
a  satisfied,  thoughtless  glance  at  the  shimmering  waves  be 
low,  in  some  such  natural  way  as  a  sea-bird  flying  overhead 
might  have  done. 

Geoffrey  was  of  a  placid  and  easy,  perhaps  lazy,  disposi 
tion  ;  but  his  placidity  rested  like  the  ice  of  a  mountain 
lake  on  deep  and  dangerous  water.  It  was  hard  to  ruffle 
him  or  even  to  move  him  ;  but  when  moved  he  was  apt 
not  to  return  to  the  position  he  had  left,  nor  to  be  quite 
natural  to  the  new  position. 

"  How  far  away  is  your  house  ?"  asked  Dacre. 

' '  Not  far  ;  there,  you  see  the  light  over  there.  Old 
Reynolds  is  sitting  up  for  me  and  keeping  the  kettle  going. 
He  sticks  by  me  through  thick  and  thin.  I  have  tried  to 
make  him  take  a  better  place,  but  he  will  not  go." 

Dacre  was  silent,  and  they  walked  on,  descending  from 
the  cliffs  and  following  a  path  across  the  wide  lawn-like 
fields,  darkened  by  enormous  heaps  of  shadow  from  scat 
tered  chestnut  trees. 

An  hour  before  the  young  men  crossed  these  fields  an 
other  figure,  a  woman's,  had  travelled  the  same  path.  She 
was  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak,  and  though  she  had  lingered 


70  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

and  loitered  on  the  cliff-walk,  she  hurried  on  the  lower 
ground  till  she  arrived  near  Geoffrey's  lodge. 

The  speed  with  which  she  had  walked  proved  that  the 
woman  was  young,  and  when  the  strong  wind  tightened 
the  light  cloak  on  the  outline  of  her  tall  figure,  it  could  be 
seen,  even  in  the  moonlight,  that  she  was  lissome  and 
beautiful. 

She  had,  on  leaving  the  cliff  path,  steered  straight  for  the 
light  in  Geoffrey's  house  ;  but  when  she  approached  it  she 
walked  slowly,  and  at  last  stopped  in  the  deep  shade  of  a 
tree  within  fifty  feet  of  the  lodge.  From  this  position  she 
could  look  into  Geoffrey's  sitting-room,  where  a  fire 
burned  brightly  and  a  light  stood  in  the  window  facing  the 
cliff. 

"  I  shall  wait  here/'  she  said,  speaking  to  herself,  as  if 
to  give  herself  courage  by  the  whisper  ;  "no  one  has  seen 
me — no  one  but  he  shall  ever  know." 

But  the  next  moment  she  almost  screamed  with  terror  at 
*a  sound  behind  her.  A  bramble  cracked,  and  she  saw  a 
man  within  a  few  yards  of  her.  She  was  terribly  fright 
ened,  and  could  not  speak  or  move. 

It  was  old  Reynolds,  Geoffrey's  servant,  who  had  seen 
her  on  the  cliff  walk,  and  had  taken  a  night  glass,  with 
which  his  master  often  watched  the  ships,  to  see  if  this 
were  not  he  returning  from  the  house.  Seeing  a  woman, 
Reynolds  was  surprised,  for  the  cliff  walk  was  lonely  and 
not  too  safe.  He  was  still  more  surprised  to  see  her  turn 
into  the  path  to  the  lodge,  and  he  had  not  lost  sight  of  her 
for  a  moment  till  she  stopped  under  the  tree. 

When  she  turned,  even  in  her  terror,  she  assumed  a 
defiant  attitude,  and  she  held  it  still,  facing  the  man. 

Reynolds  instinctively  knew  she  was  a  lady,  and  with  a 


THE  ROYALISTS.  71 

touch  of  his  hat,  but  a  doubting  sternness  in  his  voice,  he 
said  : 

"  Who  are  you,  please,  and  what  do  you  want  here  at 
this  hour  of  the  night— or  morning  ?" 

She  was  reassured,  knowing  the  voice  to  be  that  of  a 
common  man,  and  as  quickly  judging  him  to  be  Geoffrey's 
servant. 

"  I  am  an  old  friend  of  Lord  Brompton 's  family/'  she 
said,  steadily  enough  ;  ' '  and  as  I  return  to  London  to 
morrow,  I  have  walked  here  to-night  just  to  see  where  the 
head  of  a  grand  old  line  is  forced  to  reside." 

Reynolds  was  touched  on  his  tender  spot.  The  stern 
ness  left  his  voice,  and  with  bare  head  he  said  sadly  : 

"  Ay,  ma'am,  in  truth  it  is  a  sad  sight  to  see  the  Lord 
of  Ripon  living  in  the  cottage  that  was  once  the  home  of 
his  groom — for  my  father  kept  the  gate  here  for  forty 
years. ' ' 

"  Lord  Brompton  has  not  yet  come  home  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Carey,  for  it  was  she,  though  she  knew  he  had  not. 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  he  hasn't  yet  come  out  on  the  cliff 
walk.  I  can  see  him  with  this  glass — as  I  saw  you, ' '  he 
added,  explaining  his  presence. 

Mrs.  Carey  gave  a  grim  little  smile  in  the  dark. 

"  You  would  like  to  see  the  lodge,  perhaps,  ma'am, 
inside  as  well  as  out  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  should  like  it  very  much  ;  but  I  ought  not  to 
venture  now.  Lord  Brompton  might  return,  and  I  should 
not  wish  him  to  know  I  had  been  here  for  the  world.  I 
am  overjoyed  to  know  that  he  has  at  least  one  friend  who 
is  faithful  to  him/'  and  she  held  out  her  white  hand  to  the 
old  man. 

She  said  this  so  graciously  that  old  Reynolds  was  carried 


72  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

off  his  feet.  This  fine  patronage  sent  him  back  to  his 
young  manhood,  when  he  was  whipper-in  to  the  old  Earl's 
foxhounds,  and  heard  such  voices  and  saw  such  upright 
ladies  in  the  hunting-field. 

"Come  in,  my  lady,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  cliff 
path;  "  he  cannot  reach  here  under  half  an  hour.  You 
can  see  all  there  is  to  be  seen  of  the  poor  place  in  a  few 
minutes." 

The  old  man  led,  and  she  followed  toward  the  lodge. 

"  Have  a  care  of  the  steps,  my  lady  ;  they  are  the  worse 
for  wear. ' ' 

He  entered  before  her,  and  threw  open  the  door  of  the 
main  room.  The  place  was  made  cheery  and  comfortable 
by  a  blazing  wood-fire  on  the  great  iron  dogs,  and  a  round 
copper  kettle  singing  and  steaming  on  one  side  of  the 
hearth. 

The  lady  entered  and  stood  by  the  table,  glancing  keenly 
at  every  feature.  In  brief  space  she  had  taken  an  inventory 
of  the  room.  Old  Reynolds  passed  her  and  opened  a  side 
door  which  let  in  a  flood  of  cool  air  from  the  field  where 
she  had  been  a  few  minutes  before.  The  old  man  stood 
at  the  door  a  moment,  watching  the  cliff  path  for  his 
master. 

' '  We  do  not  use  this  door, ' '  he  said,  ' '  for  the  boards 
out  there  are  too  old  to  be  safe." 

Mrs.  Carey  went  to  the  door,  the  upper  part  of  which 
had  once  contained  squares  of  glass,  but  was  now  vacant, 
and  saw  that  it  opened  on  a  short  hall-way  about  four  feet 
deep,  with  an  outer  door,  also  half  of  glass,  which  was 
closed.  Through  this  door-window  the  old  man  had 
looked  toward  the  cliff.  Outside  was  an  old  piazza,  deeply 
shadowed  by  overhanging  trees. 


THE  ROYALISTS.  73 

When  Mrs.  Carey  returned  to  the  table,  her  eye  rested 
on  a  photograph  on  the  top  of  a  heap  of  old  letters.  She 
reached  her  hand  for  it ;  but  hesitated,  glancing  at  the 
servant. 

"  May  I  look  at  this  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  sweet  smile  ; 
11  I  know  almost  all  Lord  Brompton's  friends  ;"  and  she 
took  up  the  photograph. 

One  glance  was  enough  ;  it  was  a  woman' s  face,  but 
only  some  passing  woman,  whom  no  one  could  remember 
for  a  month.  With  a  slight  smile,  she  laid  it  down. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  gathered,  except  by  closer 
investigation  of  the  tempting  irregularity.  She  beamed  on 
the  old  man  as  she  turned  to  go. 

"  You  will  meet  his  lordship  on  your  way  to  the  house," 
he  said.  "  He  will  come  by  the  cliff  path." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  shall  return  by  the  lower  walk,  which  is 
safer  and  shorter.  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Reynolds,  my  lady." 

"  Good-night,  Reynolds  ;  and  please  do  not  mention 
my  visit  to  any  one." 

"  Except  to  his  lordship—" 

' '  No  ;  not  even  to  him,  Reynolds.  It  would  only  pain 
him  to  know  that  his  friends  were  observing  his  changed 
estate.  You  understand  ?' ' 

"  I  do,  my  lady,  but—" 

"But,  Reynolds,  I  ask  you  to  do  this  f  or  my  rake, ' ' 
and  again  the  smile  beamed,  the  white  hand  was  extended, 
and  the  subtle  seductiveness  of  beauty  had  its  way  once 
more.  Men  are  never  so  old,  so  humble,  or  so  ignorant 
as  to  be  insensible  to  the  charm.  Faithful,  old  Reynolds 
took  the  lovely  soft  hand  in  both  of  his,  and  bent  his 
white  head  and  kissed  it. 


74  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

' '  Even  he  shall  not  know, ' '  he  said  ;  and  the  next  mo 
ment  she  was  gone — this  time  not  across  the  moonlit  field 
path  to  the  cliff,  but  into  the  dark  shadows  of  the  woods 
on  the  other  side  of  the  lodge. 

Reynolds  watched  her  till  she  was  lost  in  the  gloom,  and 
then  returned  to  the  lodge,  closed  the  door,  and  started 
toward  the  cliff  walk.  The  old  man  was  strangely  excited 
over  this  first  visit  of  his  master  to  "  his  own  house,"  and 
'he  could  not  rest  till  he  had  seen  the  end  of  it. 

But,  before  he  had  crossed  the  first  field  leading  to  the 
cliffs  his  mysterious  visitor  had  returned  to  the  lodge.  She 
had  changed  her  mind  as  she  walked  toward  Ripon  House, 
had  resolved  to  see  Geoffrey  that  night,  let  old  Reynolds 
learn  what  he  might,  and  she  had  returned. 

She  called  Reynolds  in  a  low  voice  once  or  twice  ;  then 
she  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  lodge.  The  place 
was  empty.  She  went  to  the  side  door  of  Geoffrey's  sit 
ting-room  through  the  little  hallway  and  stepped  out  on 
the  disused  piazza,  and  from  there  she  saw  the  old  servant 
on  his  way  to  the  cliffs. 

She  was  about  to  follow  him  but  she  checked  herself 
suddenly. 

4 '  No  !  this  is  unexpectedly  fortunate.  The  fates  are  in 
my  favor — so  far,  at  least.  Ah  me  !  what  will  they  say 
presently  ?" 

Turning  from  the  window  in  a  softened  mood,  she 
looked  at  the  room  with  a  new  .look.  She  saw  across  the 
chair,  which  she  knew  was  Geoffrey's,  his  old  shooting- 
jacket,  and  she  took  it  in  her  hands  with  a  tender  feeling, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  did.  Holding  it  within  her  arms 
she  stood  with  lowered  head  and  a  dreamy  look  in  her 
eyes.  While  in  this  mood  her  glance  fell  on  the  old  sword 


THE  ROYALISTS.  75 

which  lay  on  the  table,  still  with  the  slip  of  paper  tied  to 
the  hilt.  She  took  it  up  and  read  the  scroll. 

Holding  the  jacket  and  the  sword,  she  sat  in  Geoffrey's 
chair  and  stared  into  the  fire,  with  a  smile,  as  if  half  enjoy 
ing  her  own  audacity. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  heard  a  footstep,  and  presently  the 
old  servant  entered  the  outer  room,  which  was  the  kitchen 
of  the  lodge.  She  sat  still,  waiting  till  she  saw  him  enter 
and  start  at  her  appearance,  arid  ready  to  smile  his  impres 
sionable  old  soul  into  quietude. 

But  the  ancient  Reynolds  unconsciously  avoided  the 
danger.  He  remained  in  the  outer  room,  and  she  heard 
him  clatter  among  dishes  and  throw  two  logs  on  the  fire. 
Then  he  went  off  into  another  room  and  did  not  return. 

Reynolds,  seeing  that  his  master  had  company,  was  busy 
preparing  the  one  "  spare  room"  of  the  lodge  for  a  possi 
ble  guest. 

Mrs.  Carey  grew  tired  of  waiting.  She  went  to  the 
piazza  door,  opened  it,  and  looked  out.  Crossing  the 
moonlit  field  she  saw  Geoffrey,  and  he  was  not  alone  ;  but 
she  did  not  recognize  his  companion.  The  beautiful  face 
was  anything  but  beautiful  just  then,  and  the  exclamation 
that  escaped  her  was  as  fierce  as  the  stamp  of  her  foot  on 
the  bare  floor. 

The  two  men  were  so  close  to  the  house  that  she  could 
not  escape  by  the  front  door,  and  she  did  not  know  any 
other  way.  Could  she  instantly  find  Reynolds  she  would 
then  have  asked  him  to  conceal  her  till  she  could  get  away 
unseen.  But  Reynolds  did  not  appear. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment  for  Mrs.  Carey.  Discovery  in 
such  a  place  and  at  such  a  time  was  an  appalling  thought. 
Even  with  Geoffrey  alone  she  would  hardly  have  known 


76  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

how  to  meet  the  first  surprised  glance  ;  but  with  another, 
and  whom  she  knew  not,  the  idea  was  intolerable,  impossi 
ble. 

The  men  came  on  slowly  ;  she  heard  their  voices  as  they 
passed  near  the  window.  Then  she  recognized  Geoffrey's 
companion,  and  could  she  have  leaped  from  the  piazza  and 
fled,  she  would  have  done  so. 

Of  all  the  men  she  knew,  the  only  man  she  feared,  or 
perhaps  respected,  was  Sir  John  Dacre.  She  did  not  under 
stand  him,  while  he  seemed  to  read  her  very  soul.  His 
presence  robbed  her  of  self-confidence,  and  made  her  con 
temptibly  conscious  of  her  frivolity,  or  worse.  He  was 
like  a  touchstone  to  her — and  she  never  cared  to  be  tested. 

As  the  outer  door  opened  and  Geoffrey  and  Dacre  en 
tered  the  kitchen  of  the  lodge,  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  stepped 
into  the  little  passage  opening  on  the  veranda.  She 
gently  lifted  the  latch  of  the  outer  door,  but  kept  the  door 
closed.  She  carefully  closed  the  inner  door  and  crouched 
below  the  opening.  If  discovered  by  Geoffrey  she  would 
confess  that  fear  of  Dacre' s  presence  had  made  her  do  this 
thing. 

The  conversation  of  the  friends  had  been  earnest,  it  was 
clear  ;  and  before  they  had  been  in  the  room  five  minutes 
Mrs.  Carey's  fears  had  given  way  to  her  curiosity,  and  in 
stead  of  shrinking  from  the  door  she  raised  herself  to  a 
kneeling  position,  so  as  to  be  near  the  opening,  and  lis 
tened  with  breathless  attention. 

' '  The  truth  is,  Dacre, ' '  said  Geoffrey,  ' '  that  I  am  not 
sure  of  myself.  I  don' t  know  that  I  Jaave  any  political 
principles  whatever." 

"  This  is  not  a  question  of  politics,  Ripon,"  answered 
Dacre,  almost  sternly  ;  "  it  is  a  question,  it  is  the  question 


THE  ROYALISTS.  77 

of  the  reorganization  of  the  social  life  of  England,  which 
has  been  overturned  and  is  in  danger  of  being  utterly 
destroyed." 

"  Well,  even  for  that  I  am  not  particularly  enlisted.  It 
does  not  trouble  me.  Had  you  not  told  me  about  it,  I 
should  not  have  thought  that  anything  very  serious  was  the 
matter  with  England,  except  that  we  of  the  titled  class  have 
had  a  tumble  and  are  as  poor  as  the  devil.  But  then  some 
other  class  has — ' ' 

"Stop,  Ripon  !  It  is  unworthy  of  you  to  slight  the 
dignity  of  England's  nobility,  however  poor  we  may  be." 

"We!  Why,  hang  it,  Dacre,  do  I  not  count  myself  in  ? 
And  I  do  not  speak  slightingly.  I  fear  I  have  no  class, 
and  therefore  no  prejudices.  I  was  too  young  to  be  a  con 
scious  aristocrat  before  the  Revolution,  and  now  I  am  too 
old  to  be  a  thorough  Communist.  But  go  on,  Dacre,  I 
know  you  have  something  to  propose." 

Even  Dacre' s  enthusiasm  cooled  for  a  moment  before 
the  odd  calmness  of  Geoffrey,  who  was,  as  he  himself  sur 
mised,  a  man  almost  without  a  class  and  undisturbed 
by  the  hopes,  fears  or  prejudices  of  those  who  have 
one. 

Dacre  walked  to  and  fro  with  folded  arms,  while  Geof 
frey,  slipping  into  his  old  jacket,  which  he  had  been  rather 
surprised  to  find  wrapped  round  his  ancestor's  sword, 
busied  himself  with  the  kettle  and  a  bottle  he  had  taken 
from  a  cupboard. 

"  Listen,  Ripon — "  said  Dacre. 

"  Hold  on,  hold  on,  mine  ancient  friend,  '*  said  the 
preoccupied  Geoffrey,  pouring  hot  water  on  the  sugar  in 
two  glasses  ;  "  there's  nothing  like  Irish  whiskey  when 
you're  talking  treason." 


78  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Ah,  Geoffrey,"  said  Dacre,  sadly,  as  the  friends  clinked 
their  glasses,  "  men  can  live  treason  as  well  as  talk  it." 

"  Is  that  confession  or  reproach  ?" 

"  Reproach,  Ripon.  The  life  you  live  is  daily  treason 
to  your  country.  You  sit  idly  by  while  England  descends 
from  the  heights  of  her  renown  and  is  clothed  in  the  rags 
of  the  banditti  who  have  obtained  power  over  her." 

"  Banditti — who  ?     The  Republicans  ?" 

"  Republicans  or  Anarchists,  whatever  they  be  called  ; 
the  blind  and  immoral  mob  that  has  been  misled  by 
wretches  to  destroy  their  motherland." 

"  Look  here,  Dacre,  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that 
Republicanism  is  immoral  and  unnatural  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  that  is  just  what  I  mean." 

'*  But  look  at  America — the  happiest,  richest,  most 
orderly  and  yet  the  most  populous  country  in  the  world. 

"  I  speak  of  Republicanism  in  England,  not  in 
America. ' ' 

"But  where  is  the  difference?"  persisted  Geoffrey. 
"  If  the  universal  suffrage  of  the  people  be  virtue  in 
America,  how  can  it  be  vice  in  England  ?" 

"  As  the  food  of  one  life  may  be  the  poison  of  an 
other,"  answered  Dacre.  "  Human  society  has  many 
forms,  and  all  may  be  good,  but  each  must  be  specially 
protected  by  its  own  public  morality.  England  was  reared 
into  greatness  and  flourished  in  greatness  for  twenty  hun 
dred  years  on  one  unvarying  order.  America  has  developed 
under  another  order,  a  different  but  not  a  better  one." 

"  That  may  be,  but  in  less  than  two  hundred  years 
America  has  reached  a  point  of  wealth,  order  and  peace 
that  England  has  never  approached  in  two  thousand. 

"America,"   continued  Dacre,    "had  nothing  to  un- 


THE  ROYALISTS.  79 

learn.  Her  people  had  no  royal  traditions — we  have  no 
democratic  ones." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Geoffrey. 

' '  There  is  everything  in  it.  The  Americans  are  true  to 
their  past,  while  we  are  false  to  ours.  We  are  trampling 
on  the  glorious  name  and  fame  of  our  country.  We  are 
recreant  to  our  position,  intelligence,  to  our  fathers'  mem 
ories — or  we  shall  be  if  we  do  not — " 

"  Do  not  what?"  asked  Geoffrey,  as  Dacre  paused. 

"  If  we  do  not  unite  and  have  another  revolution  !"  an 
swered  Dacre,  slowly  and  firmly. 

There  was  a  slight  sound  outside  the  room,  which  made 
Geoffrey  raise  his  eyes  and  glance  toward  the  window  ;  but 
Dacre,  now  aflame  with  his  subject,  stood  before  him  and 
arrested  his  look. 

"  Ripon,  do  you  think  that  the  nobles,  the  gentlemen  of 
England,  have  lain  down  like  submissive  creatures  to  this 
atrocious  revolt  ?  Do  you  think  nothing  has  been  done?" 

"In  Heaven's  name,  what  can  be  done?"  asked 
Geoffrey. 

"  What  did  the  Anarchists  do  when  they  wanted 
power?"  asked  Dacre  fiercely.  "  They  banded  together 
in  secret.  They  swore  to  be  true  to  each  other  to  the 
death.  They  armed  and  drilled  and  prepared  their  plans. 
They  watched  every  avenue,  and  took  advantage  of  every 
mistake  of  ours.  They  inflamed  the  masses  against  the 
Royal  Family,  the  Court,  the  House  of  Peers,  the  landed 
aristocracy,  and  when  their  hour  of  opportunity  came  they 
raised  the  cry  of  revolution,  and  the  government  was 
changed  in  a  day." 

"Well?"  v: 

"  Well  ! — we  have  learned  their  lesson.     What  they  did 


8o  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

we  shall  do.     We  have  banded  ourselves  together.     What 
is  that?" 

A  noise  like  a  creaking  door  had  struck  Dacre's  ear,  and 
he  stopped.  Geoffrey  had  heard  it,  too,  and  inctantly 
jumped  up  and  walked  into  the  kitchen.  Reynolds  was 
not  there  ;  but  Geoffrey  heard  him  at  work  in  another 
room.  He  returned  smiling. 

"  Either  an  owl  or  a  ghost,  .Dacre,"  he  said,  looking 
out  on  the  field.  "  There  is  not  a  soul  but  old  Reynolds 
within  two  miles  of  this  place." 

Dacre  continued  to  pace  the  room,  and  as  he  walked  he 
said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  I  have  said  too  much,  or  not  enough,  Ripon.  Shall 
I  proceed  ?" 

"  By  all  means,  proceed." 

*  *  But  you  understand — you  see  the  consequence  ?  You 
know  enough  to  know  whether  or  not  you  want  to  hear 
more." 

Geoffrey  was  silent,  and  sat  looking  at  the  fire.  He  was 
moved  by  Dacre's  words  ;  but  he  was  not  filled  with  any 
new  resolution.  At  last  he  raised  his  eyes  and  was  about 
to  speak.  Dacre  was  regarding  him  intently,  and  now 
came  and  bent  toward  him. 

"  Come  with  us,  Ripon,"  he  said  earnestly,  dropping 
each  sentence  slowly.  '  *  We  want  you.  You  are  needed. 
It  is  your  duty." 

' '  I  am  not  sure,  Dacre,  about  that, ' '  answered  Geoffrey, 
looking  at  his  friend. 

Dacre  drew  back,  with  a  flush  on  his  pale  face. 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  continued  Geoffrey,  unheed 
ing  the  movement ;  "  but  I  am  sure  of  you,  John  Dacre, 
and  I  am  ready  to  take  your  word  for  it,  even  when  you 


THE  ROYALISTS.  81 

tell  me  what  is  my  duty.  I  am  sure  that  if  the  gentlemen 
of  England  are  in  a  league  of  your  founding,  or  of  your 
choice,  they  are  banded  for  no  dishonor,  but  for  some 
noble  purpose  ;  and  if  you  want  me  I  am  ready." 

Dacre' s  mouth  quivered  as  he  grasped  the  hand  his 
friend  held  out  to  him.  Then  he  took  another  turn  across 
the  room. 

"  Now,  go  on  with  your  talk,"  said  Geoffrey.  "  If 
there  is  any  oath,  propose  it. ' ' 

"  None  for  you,"  said  Dacre. 

"Thanks." 

Dacre  then  unfolded  the  plan  of  the  revolution  which 
would  restore  the  House  of  Hanover,  the  House  of  Peers, 
the  titles,  and  all  the  old  order  of  aristocratic  classification 
which  nearly  twenty  years  before  England  had  put  behind 
her.  He  wanted  to  see  Geoffrey  an  actual  leader,  know 
ing  the  qualities  of  the  man  ;  and  to  show  him  the  position 
clearly  he  laid  the  whole  scheme  bare.  It  was  a  terrible 
enterprise,  but  on  the  whole  not  so  formidable  as  a  score 
of  revolutions  that  have  succeeded  in  Europe  since  the  end 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

"  You  say  you  will  begin  with  the  army  ?"  asked  Geof 
frey.  "  How  many  regiments  have  you  ?" 

"  We  have  eleven  colonels  in  England  to-day,"  an 
swered  Dacre,  ' '  and  six  of  these  will  be  with  their  regi 
ments  at  Aldershot  on  the  day  of  the  revolution." 

"  How  are  their  men  ?  Are  the  subalterns  with  them  ? 
and  can  they  carry  the  soldiers  ?" 

' '  Many  of  the  subalterns  are  not  with  them  ;  but  there 
are  some  exceptions.  When  the  Royal  banner  is  raised 
and  the  King  proclaimed,  depend  on  it  the  common  peo 
ple  will  respond." 


82  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

' '  How  many  men  of  note  will  be  at  Aldershot  on  that 
day  ?"  asked  Geoffrey. 

' '  Here  is  a  rough  plan  of  the  rising  and  a  list  of  the 
gentlemen,  which  Colonel  Arundel  has  drawn  up,"  said 
Dacre,  and  he  took  from  an  inner  pocket  a  paper  contain 
ing  about  forty  names,  which  he  handed  to  Geoffrey,  who 
glanced  at  it  rapidly,  recognizing  nearly  all  the  names, 
though  he  knew  few  of  their  owners.  Half  a  score  of 
dukes  and  earls  and  marquises  headed  the  list,  including 
old  Bayswater  and  the  unfortunate  Royal  Duke  who  had 
chosen  to  remain  in  England  in  poverty  rather  than  share 
the  King's  exile  in  America.  Lower  down  on  the  list 
were  the  names  of  simple  gentlemen  like  Featherstone  and 
Sydney. 

While  Geoffrey  was  looking  at  the  scroll,  Dacre  had 
taken  up  the  old  sword  and  read  the  faded  inscription  tied 
to  the  hilt  Geoffrey  saw  him  and  smiled,  as  he  laid  the 
list  on  the  table. 

"  It  is  true,  Dacre,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  affection 
ately  on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "  I  thought  of  the  words 
of  that  scroll  to-night  when  I  saw  you  interested  in  that 
girl  with  the  beautiful  eyes,  who  sat  beside  you," 

"  Why  think  of  these  words  ?" 

"  Because  she  was  a  commoner's  daughter,  Dacre  ;  but 
none  the  less  a  noble  English  girl,  fit  match  for  any  aristo 
crat  in  Europe." 

"  Doubtless,"  answered  Dacre,  calmly,  looking  at  the 
silver  hilt  of  the  old  sword. 

"You  have  met  Miss  Lincoln  before  to-day  ?  Yes — 
Miss  Windsor  told  me  so." 

* '  Yes ;  I  have  seen  her  several  times  at  Arundel 
House." 


THE  ROYALISTS.  83 

"  Her  father  is  a  good  man,  Dacre.  How  will  he 
regard  our  revolution  ?" 

"  As  we  regarded  his,  no  doubt — as  a  crime." 

"  God  !"  thought  Geoffrey,  pacing  the  floor,  "how 
strange  that  two  men  so  noble  as  these  should  look  upon 
each  other  as  traitors  and  enemies  !" 

"  Were  it  not  for  Richard  Lincoln  the  Monarchy  would 
have  been  restored  ten  years  ago.  He  is  a  powerful  sup 
porter  of  his  class, ' '  said  Dacre,  slowly. 

"  Dacre  !"  said  Geoffrey,  stopping  in  front  of  him,  "  it 
is  we  who  are  class  men.  Richard  Lincoln  is  a  patriot  !" 

Dacre  leaned  his  chin  on  the  old  sword,  and  looked 
silently  into  the  fire. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  such  men  as  he,  should  this 
revolution  succeed  ?"  continued  Geoffrey.  "  They  will  never 
submit." 

'*  They  must,"  said  Dacre,  with  compressed  lips, 
"  or — "  The  sentence  was  left  unspoken. 

Geoffrey  saw  it  was  no  use  to  argue.  He  had  cast  in  his 
lot  with  Dacre,  and  there  could  be  no  drawing  back. 

"  Stay  with  me  to-night,"  said  Geoffrey,  as  his  friend 
was  buttoning  his  coat.  ' '  Reynolds  has  prepared  a  room 
for  you." 

"  No  ;  I  must  see  Featherstone,  who  returns  to  London 
early  to-morrow.  I  should  like  to  see  you  later  in  the 
day.  I  shall  come  here,  I  think." 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  quiet  here.  Well,  let  me  walk  with  you  as 
far  as  the  end  of  the  cliff." 

And  lighting  their  cigars  the  two  men  struck  across  the 
field,  Geoffrey  having  ordered  old  Reynolds  to  go  to  bed. 

Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  waited  till  the  old  man  had  left  the 
kitchen  and  retired.  Then  she  came  from  her  hiding- 


84  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

place  and  at  one  glance  saw  what  she  wanted— the  list  of 
conspirators,  which  Geoffrey  had  laid  open  on  the  table. 
Her  keen  sense  of  hearing  had  followed  this  paper  as  if  it 
were  visible  to  her  eyes,  and  she  knew  that  it  had  not  been 
returned  to  Dacre.  With  a  firm  hand  she  seized  the  docu 
ment,  and  the  next  moment  she  had  left  the  room,  closing 
the  tsvo  doors  behind  her.  She  kept  close  to  the  wall  as 
she  circled  the  lodge  to  the  lower  path,  and  then  she  started 
on  a  rapid  walk  for  Ripon  House. 

As  Geoffrey  returned  he  was  thinking  of  the  list,  and  he 
looked  for  it,  with  something  of  alarm  at  its  absence. 
When  he  realized  that  it  was  gone  he  walked  through  the 
kitchen  and  called  up  Reynolds. 

"  Were  you  in  the  room  since  I  went  out?"  he  asked. 

"No,  my  lord." 

"  Is  there  any  one  else  in  the  house  ?" 

"No,  my  lord/' 

' '  Has  there  been  any  one  else  here  to-night  ?' ' 

The  old  man  hesitated  before  he  answered  this  time. 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  no  one  has  been  here." 

Geoffrey  had  not  the  slightest  reason  to  doubt  the  faith 
ful  old  man,  but  had  asked  the  questions  for  reassurance. 
As  he  retired  for  the  night,  or  rather  morning,  he  said  to 
himself  that  Dacre'  had  no  doubt  taken  the  document, 
which  was  too  precious  and  too  dangerous  to  be  left  in  any 
other  hands. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A   FOUR-IN-HAND    AND    ONE    IN   THE    BUSH. 

THE  four-in-hand  which  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the 
great  terrace  of  Ripon  House  the  next  morning  reflect 
ed  much  credit  upon  Mr.  Jawkins's  savoir  faire.  The 
new  harness  glistened  in  the  sunlight  of  the  bright  Novem 
ber  morning  ;  the  grooms,  in  the  nattiest  of  coats  and  the 
whitest  and  tightest  of  breeches,  were  standing  at  the 
horses'  heads ;  and  the  horses  themselves,  beautifully 
matched,  clearx-limbed  and  glossy,  were  fresh  from  a  toilet 
as  carefully  made  as  that  of  a  professional  beauty,  or  even 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey's  own.  And  that  lady  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  Doric  portal,  her  clinging  driving-dress 
seeming  loath  to  hide  the  grand  curves  of  her  figure,  and 
her  violet  eyes  drinking  in  the  day.  As  she  stood  there, 
she  seemed  anything  but  the  flower  of  a  moribund  civiliza 
tion,  the  last  blossom  of  an  ancient  regime  ;  but  there  is  a 
certain  force  which  flourishes  in  anarchy,  a  life  which  feeds 
upon  the  decay  of  other  lives,  and  grows  but  the  more  beau 
tiful  for  it.  Geoffrey  looked  upon  her  with  a  half-repelled, 
unwilling  admiration,  little  knowing  how  near  he  had  been 
to  her  the  night  before.  Then  Maggie  Windsor  came  out, 
and  he  tried  to  look  at  her  instead. 

"  Remarkably  fine  horses,   those,   Mr.   Windsor,"   re- 


86  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

marked  the  Duke,  with  a  gravely  approving  nod  of  his 
polished  head.  "  Remarkably  fine  horses,"  he  repeated, 
as  if  one  could  not  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing  from  a 
duke  ;  and  this  time  he  threw  in  a  wave  of  his  patrician 
hand,  gratis.  Jawkins  looked  at  him  with  admiration,  and 
again  felt  that  he  was  a  prime  investment.  The  straw 
berry-colored  dome  of  his  bald  head  was  alone  worth  the 
money,  not  to  mention  the  strawberry  leaves. 

' '  And  does  not  your  Grace  admire  the  break  ?' '  asked 
Mr.  Jawkins,  with  a  preliminary  bow  and  smirk.  "  It  is  a 
new  pattern  ;  and  the  panels  picked  out  in  cream  color  are 
thought  to  give  a  monstrous  fine  tone  to  the  body.  And 
as  for  the  horses — they're  from  ex-President  Rourke's  state 
stables." 

The  Duke  looked  as  if  he  deprecated  the  introduction  of 
any  such  recent  personage  into  the  company,  even  by  the 
mention  of  his  name  ;  and  at  that  moment  the  Duchess 
arrived  with  Sir  John  Dacre.  Sir  John  did  not  look  much 
like  the  member  of  a  coaching  party  ;  a  close  observer 
might  have  noted  a  slight  mutual  glance  of  intelligence 
passing  between  his  eyes  and  Geoffrey's,  Mrs,  Oswald 
Carey  was  that  close  observer. 

"  A  four-in-hand  is  all  very  well  for  those  that  like  it," 
observed  Mr.  Windsor  to  the  Duke,  "  but  give  me  a  box 
buggy  and  a  span  of  long-tailed  horses.  Are  you  off  to 
day,  Jawkins  ?" 

' '  Yes  ;  the  Prince  has  sent  telegrams  at  twenty-minute 
intervals  all  through  the  morning,  and  in  the  latest  one  he 
began  to  swear.  The  Prince  is  a  natural  linguist  and  can 
swear  in  fifteen  different  languages.  I  must  be  off  to 
Brighton  at  once.  I  will  return  late  at  night.  I  have  left 
one  of  my  young  men,  who  will  take  good  care  of  you, 


A  FOUR-IN-HAND  AND  ONE  IN  THE  BUSH.   87 

you  know.  Good-by,  Mr.  Windsor — your  Grace,  I  am 
your  most  obedient — "  Jawkins  bowed  low  and  jumped 
into  his  little  dog-cart.  By  this  time  the  break  had  got 
fairly  loaded  ;  the  horses  were  given  their  heads  ;  the  horn 
sounded  ;  and  in  the  wake  of  the  great  equipment  pro 
vided  for  Mr.  Jawkins' s  clients,  Jawkins  himself  rattled 
contentedly  along  to  the  station. 

A  fine  show  made  the  paint  and  silver  and  the  flowers 
and  the  gay  cloaks  and  furs  and  the  beautiful  women 
among  them.  What  is  more  dashing  and  brilliant  than  a 
coaching-party  ?  What  more  inspiring  to  the  eye,  more 
light  and  careless  ;  what  fun  more  fast  and  furious  ?  And 
many  a  man  that  morning,  who  felt  his  hand  clothed  with 
all  the  might  of  the  people,  looked  curiously  at  the  equi 
page  of  the  Yankee  millionnaire  and  envied  these  gay  peo 
ple,  the  haughty  beauty  of  the  women,  the  gentlemen  with 
their  calm,  unruffled  exterior,  and  the  light-heartedness,  the 
carelessness  of  it  all. 

Now,  upon  this  coach  were  six  people  ;  and  as  they 
bowled  along  in  the  crisp  November  morning  they  were 
thinking  of  many  things.  Let  us  fancy,  if  we  can,  what 
some  of  these  gay  thoughts  were.  On  the  inside  seat  was 
Mr.  Sydney,  the  hired  wit,  the  broken-down  man-about- 
town  ;  his  health  gone,  his  future  gone,  with  no  family,  no 
friends,  no  faith  in  a  hereafter  and  no  joy  in  the  present ; 
and  the  day  preceding,  at  dinner,  he  had  eaten  a  vol-au-vent 
which  had  disagreed  with  him.  Next  Mr.  Sydney  came 
the  Duchess,  the  gaunt  and  dignified  lady  who  awed  even 
Jawkins  to  repose.  There  was  not  a  night  of  her  life  that 
she  did  not  cry  like  any  schoolgirl  whose  lover  has  forgot 
ten  her,  at  the  shame  of  her  life,  and  the  bitterness  and 
humiliation  of  her  daily  bread.  She  would  rail  at  the  old 


88  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Duke,  who  had  come  to  it  so  easily,  and  was  willing  to 
prostitute  the  honors  of  his  race  for  gross  creature  comforts, 
his  claret,  his  cigar  ;  and  every  morning,  when  her  old 
eyes  opened,  she  hated  the  daylight  that  told  her  she  was 
not  yet  dead. 

Next  the  Duchess  came  Maggie  Windsor.  Come  now 
(you  might  say),  she,  at  least,  is  in  her  place  upon  a  four- 
in-hand,  with  her  young  life,  her  happy  lot,  her  pretty, 
pouting  lips  and  laughing  eyes  ?  I  do  not  know  ;  I 
marked  the  quiver  of  those  pretty  lips,  and  the  flush  of  her 
fresh  face,  as  her  eyes,  no  longer  laughing,  looked  at  Mrs. 
Carey,  just  in  front.  Beside  her  sits  Sir  John  Dacre.  His 
lips  are  closed  firmly  above  the  square  blue  chin,  and  his 
eyes,  beneath  a  prematurely  wrinkled  brow,  look  straight 
before  him  out  upon  the  road.  Perhaps  you  would  not 
call  Sir  John's  face  attractive  ;  his  expression  does  not 
change  enough  for  charm,  and  there  is  not  light  enough  in 
those  still  gray  eyes.  As  you  see  it  now,  so  his  expression 
has  been  these  twenty  years,  from  his  studious  youth  at 
Oxford  on.  The  four  horses  break  into  a  furious  canter 
down  the  hill  ;  the  coach  sways  from  side  to  side  ;  and 
Dacre  still  looks  far  ahead  and  down  the  road.  If  there  is 
no  light  in  the  eyes,  there  is  no  tremor  of  the  lips  ;  just  so 
he  looked  when  at  the  doorway,  all  unconscious  that  Mary 
Lincoln  was  looking  at  his  eyes  and  finding  them  attrac 
tive.  Dacre  has  never  thought  of  women  ;  his  life  has  had 
but  a  single  thought,  a  single  hope,  and  that,  perhaps,  a 
forlorn  one. 

In  front,  on  the  box-seat,  is  Geoffrey  Ripon,  driving, 
and  Ripon  is  miserable  that  Maggie  Windsor  is  there, 
miserable  that  Eleanor  Carey  is  there,  so  miserable  about 
either  that  he  half  forgets  he  has  promised  his  life  to  Dacre, 


A  FOUR-IN-HAND  AND  ONE  IN  THE  BUSH.  89 

and  with  him,  so  close  that  her  full  arm  touches  his,  and 
troubles  him  as  if  it  had  some  magnetic  influence,  sits  the 
beautiful  woman  whose  girlhood  he  had  loved  ;  she,  now 
knowing  this,  now  conscious  of  the  might  of  love,  and  of 
the  power  that  it  gave  her  womanhood  upon  this  man  ; 
and  in  her  heart  the  madness  of  her  misery,  the  scorning  of 
her  world,  the  courage  and  the  passion  of  despair. 

It  is  a  gay  coaching  party,  and  many  such  another  rattles 
through  this  world  with  the  footmen  and  the  shining  trap 
pings  and  the  pomp  of  paint  and  varnish.  Oddly  enough, 
no  one  speaks  for  moments,  while  they  whirl  down  the 
avenue  beneath  the  stately  trees.  "  Where  shall  I  drive 
you  to  ?"  finally  says  Ripon  to  the  company. 

"  Where  you  like,"  says  Miss  Windsor,  after  a  pause. 
"  You  must  know  the  prettiest  place — you  have  known 
this  country  from  your  childhood." 

Ripon  drove  them  up  to  the  highest  crest  of  the  down, 
where  the  long  main  wave  of  the  green  hills  stretches  east 
ward  along  the  coast,  and  the  faint  blue  sea  sleeps  glim 
mering  in  the  south.  Still  no  one  spoke  ;  Dacre's  eyes 
were  lost  over  the  ocean  ;  even  Miss  Windsor  was  grave 
and  silent.  Mrs.  Carey  tried  to  point  out  a  sail  to 
Geoffrey  ;  he  could  not  see  it,  and  she  leaned  over  close  to 
him  that  he  might  follow  the  direction  of  her  eye.  Her 
breath  seemed  warm  upon  his  face  after  the  sea  breeze. 

"  Your  eyes  are  not  so  good  as  they  used  to  be,"  said 
she.  Geoffrey  looked  at  her,  and  thought  to  himself  that 
hers  were  deeper.  He  said  so  ;  but  she  only  laughed 
the  more  and  looked  at  him  again.  ' '  Do  you  remember 
our  rides  in  the  pony-carriage?"  she  went  on.  "Poor 
Neddy  !" 

He  did  remember  the  rides  in  the  pony-carriage  only  too 


90  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

well  ;  when  he  sat  beside  the  laughing  girl,  and  she  looked 
up  at  him  as  they  drove  through  the  leafy  lanes  when  the 
shadows  lengthened  till  the  sunbeams  crept  under  the  old 
trees  and  touched  her  hair  with  gold.  It  was  in  one  of 
these  drives  that  he  had  vowed  that  he  would  always  love 
her.  He  had  broken  a  sixpence  with  her  in  earnest  of 
their  betrothal  contract.  But  he  did  not  like  to  have  those 
drives  recalled  with  Maggie  Windsor  sitting  just  behind 
them.  The  horses  were  conveniently  restive  just  then,  and 
perhaps  Geoffrey  did  not  put  on  quite  so  much  brake 
going  down  the  hill  as  was  necessary.  The  heavy  vehicle 
went  down  with  a  rush  ;  Geoffrey  and  Mrs.  Carey  were 
not  looking  at  the  horses,  the  Duchess  was  indifferent, 
Sydney  looked  on  dyspeptically,  and  Dacre  was  looking 
far  ahead,  as  was  his  wont.  Only  Maggie  Windsor  gave  a 
little  scream  and  grasped  the  rail. 

"  It  was  not  so  hard  to  drive  Neddy  as  that  four,"  Mrs. 
Carey  went  on.  "  If  I  remember  aright,  the  reins  were 
often  on  the  dash-board,  and  we  were  not  always  absorbed 
in  the  scenery,  I  fear."  Mrs.  Carey  sighed,  and  looked 
away  over  the  green  hills  and  valleys. 

"  Poor  old  Neddy  !"  said  Geoffrey,  lightly.  "  I  sup- 
pose  he  carries  no  such  happy  burdens  now. ' ' 

' '  Some  people  are  happy  yet, ' '  the  woman  answered. 
' '  I  told  you  yesterday  I  had  never  blamed  you  for  forget 
ting  me  after  you  went  to  Oxford.  It  was  true.  But  I 
missed  you  very  much. "  There  was  a  little  tremor  in  her 
voice  as  she  said  this.  Geoffrey  pricked  his  horses  ner 
vously. 

"  My  heart  gave  a  great  leap  when  you  came  into  the 
room — it  should  not  leap,  being  Oswald's, "  she  continued, 
in  a  more  worldly  tone,  "  but  it  did  all  the  same.  A 


A  FOUR-IN-HAND  AND  ONE  IN  THE  BUSH.  91 

woman's  heart  cannot  forget  its  first  possessor,  you  know  ; 
even  now  that  you  have  lost  it — with  the  rest  of  your 
estates, ' '  she  added  maliciously. 

' '  With  the  rest  of  my  estates, ' '  Geoffrey  repeated,  almost 
unconsciously.  They  had  crossed  the  highest  hill  by  this 
time,  and  were  upon  a  lower  ridge  ;  before  them  a  long 
green  band  of  velvety  turf  stretched  away  over  the  billowy 
downs,  the  chalk  shining  through  the  bare  places  where 
the  grass  was  worn  away,  like  flecks  of  foam.  Geoffrey 
had  a  sudden  thought,  and,  leaving  the  road,  he  cannoned 
the  four  noble  horses  over  the  close,  hard  turf. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Mrs.  Carey  after  a  moment. 
1  *  And  are  all  your  estates  really  gone  ?  Can  you  get  none 
of  them  back  ?  But  where  is  this — where  are  you  going  ?" 

1 '  I  say, ' '  said  Sydney,  ' '  do  you  know  where  you  are, 
Brompton  ?  This  used  to  be  Goodwood  Race-course." 
Goodwood  Race-course  ;  so  it  was.  There  was  the  track, 
stretching  like  a  band  of  broad  green  ribbon  over  hill  and 
dale  ;  there  was  the  glorious  oak  wood  to  the  west,  above 
the  smooth  bit  of  grass  which  used  to  be  the  lawn,  where 
the  ladies  of  the  reign  of  Victoria  had  their  picnics  and 
showed  their  dresses,  and  book-makers  used  to  jostle  min 
isters  in  the  betting-ring.  "  Ah, "  said  Sydney, "  my  father 
has  told  me  of  great  doings  here — when  King  George's 
grandfather  was  the  Prince  of  Wales." 

The  break  rolled  silently  over  the  soft  greensward,  and 
Geoffrey  feared  Miss  Windsor  could  overhear  their  every 
word,  as  Mrs.  Carey  spoke  again. 

>c  This  is  a  glorious  day — a  glorious  country, "  she  said. 
' '  Do  you  know,  I  have  not  felt  so  happy  since  those  old 
days  ?"  She  looked  up  again,  and  Geoffrey  met  the  magic 
of  her  eyes,  and  lost  himself  in  them.  Suddenly  she 


92  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

turned  them  from  him.  '  *  You  should  be  saying  all  this 
— not  I,"  she  said. 

"When  were  you  married  to  Mr.  Oswald  Carey?" 
asked  Geoffrey,  abruptly.  He  felt  that  he  was  slipping 
from  his  moral  moorings  and  wished  to  lash  himself  to 
them  again. 

"I  have  been  married  four  years,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"But  you  really  must  be  careful  of  your  driving,  Lord 
Brompton.  I  distract  you  by  talking. ' ' 

"  Not  at  all, "  said  Geoffrey,  half  troubled  that  his  parry 
ing  question  had  answered  his  purpose  so  well.  Mrs. 
Carey  turned  round  with  an  indifferent  air. 

"  My  dear  Duchess,  is  not  the  view  charming?" 

The  Duchess  made  so  slight  an  inclination  of  her  head 
that  it  was  hardly  an  affirmative.  She  did  not  approve  of 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey.  Not  that  her  approval  mattered  any 
thing  nowadays.  But  she  thought  it  bad  enough  to  be  a 
professional  beauty  and  sell  one's  photograph  ;  and  worse 
still  to  rent  one's  face  out  to  enliven  dining-parties,  and 
one's  neck  and  shoulders  to  adorn  dinners.  True,  she 
herself  rented  their  great  name,  their  ducal  title  ;  but  then 
she  never  could  get  used  to  it  in  others. 

If  Mrs.  Carey  noticed  the  snub,  she  showed  no  sign  in 
her  face,  but  turned  to  Mr.  Sydney.  He  also  had  found 
the  Duchess  rather  thorny  ;  and  was  ready  as  ever  to  pay 
the  homage  that  one  who  is  only  a  wit  owes  to  beauty. 
And  we  know  that  beauty  is  more  queen  than  ever  in  this 
material  age.  It  is  long  since  our  grandfathers  first  found 
the  folly  of  dreams  and  banished  art  and  poetry  from  Eng 
land — with  opium  and  other  idle  drugs. 

"  Mr.  Sydney,  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  daisy.  I  am  so 
glad  the  vol-au-vcnt  agreed  with  you." 


A  FOUR-IN-HAND  AND  ONE  IN  THE  BUSH.  93 

1 '  My  dear  madam,  you  know  not  of  what  you  speak. 
My  night  was  terrible,  and  no  such  aurora  as  yourself  was 
in  my  troubled  dream  at  dawn."  Sydney  looked  over  at 
the  Duchess,  fancying  this  speech  was  rather  nicely  turned  ; 
but  her  Grace  was  quite  impassive,  and  evidently  maintain 
ing  a  sort  of  conversational  armed  neutrality. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Sydney,  you  should  have  more  care  of  your 
self,  or  I  fear  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  dine  no 
longer,  but  merely  sit  up  and  take  nourishment.  Now, 
we  expect  you  to  be  so  funny  at  luncheon. " 

Sydney  began  to  be  offended,  thinking  this  too  flippant 
treatment  of  a  man  of  his  position.  Meantime  Maggie 
Windsor  had  been  asking  Dacre  about  the  beauty.  "  She 
told  me  last  night  she  was  a  very  old  friend  of  Lord 
Brompton's?"  '-.'-_ 

"  Yes,  I  believe  she  was.  I  fancy  even  there  may  have 
been  some  childish  love  affair  between  them."  Dacre 
spoke  bluntly,  as  usual.  Love  affairs  had  found  no  place 
in  Dacre's  mind  ;  his  only  thought  was  his  country  and 
his  King  ;  and  he  spoke  with  little  consciousness  of  the 
individual  human  life  his  words  might  wound. 

"  Look  there  !"  cried  Sydney,  "  there  is  Goodwood 
House. "  Geoffrey  looked  across  the  park  (they  had  gone 
down  the  hill,  through  the  wood,  and  were  now  in  the 
open  again)  and  saw  a  great,  rambling  house,  the  central 
part  of  white  stone,  with  two  semicircular  bays.  This  part 
was  evidently  old,  but  long  brick  wings  were  added  of 
more  modern  construction.  "  The  county  has  bought  it 
for  a  lunatic  asylum,  I  hear  from  Jawkins, "  said  the  wit 
grimly. 

"  Where  is  the  Duke  of  Richmond  ?"  asked  Geoffrey. 
"Still  in  Russia?" 


94  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

' '  Giving  boxing  lessons, ' '  said  Dacre. 

The  rest  of  the  ride  was  made  in  silence.  They  went 
down  through  a  valley  naturally  fertile.  None  of  the 
large  older  houses  seemed  to  be  occupied,  but  were  falling 
into  waste.  Early  in  the  afternoon  they  drew  up  at  Chi- 
chester  Cathedral,  among  the  ruins  of  which  they  were  to 
lunch.  The  grooms  took  the  horses  off  to  an  inn  in  the 
little  village  near  by,  and  Jawkins's  man  proceeded  to 
unpack  the  hampers. 

For  some  reason,  Miss  Windsor  avoided  Geoffrey.  The 
Duchess  and  Sir  John  sat  silently  beside  one  another  ; 
Ripon  was  left  to  Mrs.  Carey.  It  was  a  pretty  picnic  ; 
but  the  party  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  it  very  much.  From 
the  Chichester  ruin  the  roof  has  quite  disappeared,  but  the 
pointed  arches  of  the  nave  still  stand  ;  and  these  and  the 
flying  buttresses  of  the  choir  make  a  half  inclosure  of  the 
place,  into  which  the  sunlight  breaks  and  slants  like  broken 
bars  of  music  through  the  soft  greensward.  Here  you 
may  lose  yourself  among  the  arches  and  pillars,  the  broken 
altars,  the  overturned  fonts,  and  the  old  tombs  and  marble 
tablets  speaking  of  dead  worthies  long  forgotten.  And  if 
you  lose  yourself  with  the  right  person,  your  loss  may  be 
(as  these  same  epitaphs  read)  her  eternal  gain. 

Geoffrey  wandered  in  here  with  Mrs.  Carey.  He  had 
been  trying  to  find  Miss  Windsor  ;  but  he  met  the  other 
first.  He  could  not  treat  her  rudely,  perhaps  he  did  not 
wish  to  ;  but  to  his  speech  she  answered  but  in  monosylla 
bles  or  not  at  all.  Finally  they  sat  down  on  the  grass, 
leaning  on  an  old  stone  pillar  overthrown  in  a  corner,  half 
sheltered  by  what  had  been  an  altar  in  the  old  days,  before 
the  church  was  disestablished.  Geoffrey  did  not  speak  for 
some  time,  and  when  he  looked  at  her  he  saw  that  she  was 


A  FOUR-IN-HAND  AND  ONE  IN  THE  BUSH.  95 

crying.     Great  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  as  he  bent  down 
they  seemed  tenfold  even  their  usual  depth. 

41  Mrs.  Carey  !  Eleanor  !"  he  cried  in  despair,  "  what 
can  be  so  wrong  with  you  !  Pray  tell  me — please  tell 
me — "  She  made  no  answer  ;  her  hand  was  cold  and 
unresisting  as  he  raised  it  with  the  soft  white  arm  from  the 
grass  ;  the  sleeve  fell  back,  and  the  setting  sunlight  showed 
each  little  vein  in  her  transparent  skin.  ' '  Pray,  tell  me  ! " 
Geoffrey  went  on,  and  then,  more  softly,  ' '  You  know  I 
have  never  forgotten  you  ! ' ' 

Her  breast  was  rising  and  falling  with  her  weeping  ;  but 
only  a  single  sigh  escaped  her  lips.  At  his  words  a  deep 
sob  seemed  to  break  from  a  full  heart  ;  half  rising,  on  an 
elbow,  she  placed  her  hand  on  Geoffrey's  shoulder  and 
drew  his  head  in  the  bend  of  her  wrist  down  close  to  her  as 
she  lay.  Her  lips  almost  brushed  his  cheek  as  she  poured 
into  his  ear  a  torrent  of  words.  "  I  am  so  miserable  !  so 
miserable  !"  was  all  he  could  distinguish.  Then  she 
arose,  sitting  upright. 

"  Geoffrey  Ripon,  my  life  is  a  lie — a  mean,  unbroken 
lie.  You  know  why  I  married  Carey — he  could  give  me 
position,  eclat,  fashion — fashion,  which  is  all  we  moderns 
prize,  who  have  killed  our  nobles  and  banished  honor  from 
the  dictionary.  I  sold  myself  to  him  and  I  have  queened 
it,  there  in  London,  among  the  lucky  gamblers  and  the 
demagogues  and  the  foreign  millionnaires.  All  that  this 
world — all  that  the  world  can  give  I  have  had,  Geoffrey 
Ripon.  And  I  tell  you  that  there  is  nothing  but  love, 
love,  love.  It  is  these  things  that  are  the  lie,  Geoffrey — 
not  love  and  truth  and  honesty.  Oh,  forgive  me;  Geoffrey, 
but  I  do  so  crave  for  love  alone. " 

Ripon  looked  at  her,    speechless.     As  she   spoke   the 


96  THE  KING^S  MEN. 

glorious  lips  had  a  curl  that  was  above  the  earth,  and  the 
eyes  a  glory  that  was  beyond  it  ;  and  the  grand  lines  of 
her  figure  formed  and  melted  and  new- formed  again  as  she 
leaned,  restless,  upon  the  fallen  stone.  She  threw  her  arm 
about  his  neck,  and  drew  him  down  to  her. 

' '  Geoffrey,  did  you  ever  love  me  ?  You  never  could 
have  loved  me,  when  you  left  me  so.  See,  the  broken  six 
pence  you  gave  me.  I  have  still  got  it.  I  have  always 
kept  it."  And  she  tore  her  collar  open,  and  showed  him 
the  broken  silver,  hanging  on  a  ribbon  of  her  hair  about  her 
neck.  "  Oh,  Geoffrey,  you  never  knew  that  I  loved  you 
so  !  See — "  and  she  drew  out  the  coin  and  ribbon,  and 
placed  it,  still  warm  from  her  bosom,  in  his  hand. 
"  Geoffrey,  I  care  for  nothing  but  love — this  world  is  a 
wreck,  a  sham,  a  ruin — all  is  gone — all  is  gone  but  love — 
dear  love — " 

She  drew  him  closer  to  her  breast.  For  a  moment 
Geoffrey  looked  into  her  marvellous  eyes.  Then  a  faint 
shadow  passed  across  them,  and  looking  aside  he  thought 
he  saw  Miss  Windsor,  alone,  passing  one  of  the  arches. 

"  Hush  !"  he  cried  ;  and  throwing  the  ribbon  down  he 
rose  and  stepped  a  pace  or  so  aside.  "  Forgive  me,  Elea 
nor,"  he  said  to  her,  as  she  looked  at  him,  "  I  loved  you 
once — God  knows — but  now — it  is  too  late." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SPREm    INJURIA    FORM^E. 

MRS.  OSWALD  CAREY  rose  the  following  morning  before 
anybody  was  stirring.  She  passed  down  the  staircase 
noiselessly  and  opened  the  front  door,  when,  much  to  her 
annoyance,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Jawkins, 
who  was  smoking  a  matutinal  pipe  on  the  front  steps. 

"  Whither  away  so  early,  Mrs.  Carey  ?" 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  tell  a  falsehood,  but  the  keen, 
clever  countenance  of  her  interrogator  convinced  her  of  the 
futility  of  such  a  plan.  ^ 

"  To  London,"  she  said,  simply  ;  "  can  I  be  of  service 
to  you  there  ?" 

"  You  know  I  depend  upon  you  to  sing  *  My  Queen  ' 
after  the  dejeuner. ' ' 

"  A  matter  of  imperative  importance  calls  me  away.  I 
shall  return  to-morrow." 

Jawkins  looked  inexorable,  and  declared  that  he  could 
not  afford  to  have  her  go.  "  You  are  the  lodestone  of  my 
organization,  the  influence  by  which  the  various  celebrities 
I  chaperone  are  harmonized.  If  it  is  a  question  of  pounds, 
I  mean  dollars — this  new  currency  is  very  puzzling — dictate 
your  own  terms.  I  have  a  valuable  diamond  here  which 
once  belonged  to  our  sovereign.  I  shall  be  happy  to 


93  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

make  you  a  present  of  it  if  you  will  give  up  your  plan. ' ' 
He  held  up  the  gem  as  he  spoke. 

1 '  What  you  ask  is  impossible.  There  are  moments  in 
a  woman's  life  when  even  a  diamond  seems  lustreless  as 
your  eyes,  Mr.  Jawkins,  if  you  will  pardon  the  simile." 
Her  sleepless  night  had  made  her  wrong  burn  so  grievously 
that  she  could  not  refrain  from  sententiousness,  even  in  the 
presence  of  this  man  whom  she  despised. 

The  undertaker  scratched  his  head  thoughtfully.  "  Has 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  said  anything  to  offend  your 
irreligious  scruples  ?" 

"No." 

"  I  trust  the  prim  manners  of  her  Grace  have  not 
wounded  your  feelings.  She  has  old-fashioned  notions 
regarding  the  sanctity  of  matrimonial  relations.  She  does 
not  approve,  perhaps,  of  your  appearing  in  public  without 
your  husband,"  said  Mr.  Jawkins,  with  an  apologetic 
smile. 

"  I  have  no  feelings.  You  forget  I  am  a  woman  of  the 
world.  Besides  I  am  revenged  for  any  coldness  on  the 
part  of  the  Duchess  by  her  husband's  affability.  I  got  a 
guinea  out  of  the  Duke  last  evening. " 

"  By  what  method  ?"  asked  the  other,  with  unfeigned 
admiration. 

"  He  kissed  my  hand.  Perhaps  you  are  now  aware, 
Mr.  Jawkins,"  continued  Mrs.  Carey,  with  a  captivating 
swirl  of  her  swan-like  neck,  "  that  I  have  established  a 
personal  tariff.  My  attractions  are  scheduled.  To  kiss  a 
thumb  or  any  but  my  little  fingers  costs  two  bob.  The 
little  fingers  come  at  half  a  crown.  To  roam  at  will  over 
my  whole  hand  involves  the  outlay  of  a  guinea.  Am  I 
not  ingenious  and  at  the  same  time  reasonable  in  my 


SPRET^S  INJURIA   FORMsE.  99 

terms,  Mr.  Jawkins  ?  I  will  squeeze  your  hand  for  six 
pence.  "  She  laughed  charmingly.  Go  to  London  she 
must  and  would,  but  she  hoped  to  accomplish  her  purpose 
by  wheedling  and  to  avoid  a  rupture  with  the  manager. 

"  Madam,"  he  replied,  with  polite  coldness,  "  was  not 
my  attitude  toward  you  what  may  be  called  fiduciary  I 
should  hasten  to  take  advantage  of  your  offer.  But  busi 
ness  is  business,  and  I  have  made  it  a  rule  never  to  enter 
into  social  relations  with  any  of  my  clients  during  the  con 
tinuance  of  a  contract.  Excuse  me  for  saying,  Mrs. 
Carey,  that  if  you  persist  in  your  design  I  shall  feel  obliged 
to  withdraw  your  back  pay." 

Pitiful  a  menace  as  this  may  seem  to  well-to-do  people, 
it  affected  Mrs.  Carey  disagreeably.  She  was  dependent 
upon  her  engagement  with  Mr.  Jawkins  for  her  means  of 
support.  These  wages  and  the  royalty  she  derived  from 
the  sale  of  her  photographs  were  her  sole  income.  She 
could  not  afford  to  offend  him,  and  she  well  knew  he 
would  keep  his  word.  But  her  desire  for  revenge  would 
not  brook  considerations  of  policy.  Rather  than  abandon 
her  plan  she  was  resolved  to  break  with  him. 

Such  was  the  outcome  of  her  reflections  during  the  mo 
ment  that  she  stood  smiling  at  his  threat  before  she  made  a 
reply.  She  looked  at  him  in  a  fashion  that  would  have 
melted  the  iron  mood  of  any  man  but  Jawkins.  He  had 
seen  beauty  world-wide  in  its  most  entrancing  forms,  and 
believed  himself  proof  against  feminine  wiles. 

"  Is  there  no  alternative  ?"  she  asked,  beseechingly. 

4 '  Mrs.  Carey,  I  will  be  frank  with  you.  I  suspect  you 
of  an  intention  of  going  to  America  for  the  purpose  of 
carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  the  late  King,  one  of  whose 
cipher  letters  to  you  has  chanced  to  come  into  my  posses- 


ioo  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

sion.  To  have  you  arrested  would  be  very  disagreeable  to 
me,  and  I  trust  you  will  not  force  me  to  take  that  step." 

Mrs.  Carey's  surprise  was  so  great  that  she  almost  be 
trayed  herself.  This  suspicion  of  his  would  be  an  admir 
able  cloak  for  her  real  design  could  she  only  succeed  in 
representing  it  to  Mr.  Jawkins  in  such  a  light  that  he 
would  suffer  her  to  go  to  London.  Some  months  previous 
she  had  projected  a  journey  to  America,  and  letters  had 
passed  between  her  and  the  King,  but  the  scheme  had  been 
laid  aside  as  impracticable,  as  she  had  discovered  that  the 
royal  family  were  in  reduced  circumstances.  It  was  now 
well  known  in  London  that  the  King's  banker  kept  him 
very  short 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  simulated  distress,  "  you  have 
pried  into  my  secret,  Mr.  Jawkins.  I  have  never  injured 
you.  What  motive  have  you  in  standing  between  me  and 
fortune  ?  Why  should  you  begrudge  me  the  eclat  of  wear 
ing  the  coronet  of  England's  Queen  ?" 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you  again,  Mrs.  Carey.  I  have 
rivals  in  America  who  would  snap  you  up  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  A  royal  crown  upon  the  brow  of  a  professional 
beauty  has  not  its  equal  on  the  globe  as  a  great  moral  ex 
hibition. " 

"  But  I  would  give  you  the  contract,"  she  said. 

The  manager  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Is  my  word  of  honor  of  no  avail  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  once  lost  ^100,000  on  a  similar  insecurity,  Mrs. 
Carey." 

'  *  You  wish  to  ruin  my  prospects  in  life,  Mr.  Jawkins. ' ' 

"  I  am  obliged  to  consider  my  own." 

"  You  are  rich  and  prosperous  already.  I  have  nothing 
but  my  personal  attractions,  as  you  well  know,  and  you 


SPRET^E  IN  JUKI  A   FOlM^L\  '  101 

seek    to    rob    me  of    the    prize'  Jwnenr  'jiis't    within'  my' 
grasp." 

"You  are  unjust,  madam."  He  shuffled  his  feet  un 
easily.  It  was  against  his  grain  as  a  man  to  see  this  peer 
less  beauty  in  trouble  and  refuse  her  petition.  Her  arms 
apparent  in  all  their  white  perfection  of  roundness,  her  ex 
quisitely  poised  head  and  lovely  face  expressed  the  poig 
nancy  of  dismay. 

' '  Is  there  no  security  that  you  will  accept,  Mr.  Jawkins  ?' ' 

Jarley  Jawkins  looked  at  her,  and  felt  the  blood  surge  in 
his  veins.  Mrs.  Carey  had  always  exercised  a  powerful 
charm  over  him.  He  regarded  her  as  the  most  beautiful 
woman  of  his  acquaintance.  Ordinarily  the  thought  of 
suggesting  anything  compromising  would  not  have  occurred 
to  him,  but  her  marvellous  beauty  presenting  itself  in  the 
same  scale  with  her  necessity,  blinded  him  to  prudence  and 
every  other  consideration  but  passion.  It  was  a  contest 
between  the  cunning  of  a  luscious  beauty  striving  for  a 
secret  end  and  the  self-interest  of  a  mercenary  man.  The 
victory  was  hers,  though  scarcely  by  the  means  she  had  ex 
pected. 

1 '  Yes,  Mrs.  Carey,  there  is  one. ' '  He  leered  at  her  a 
little. 

"And  that?" 

"Yourself."  He  spoke  distinctly  and  resolutely,  for 
he  was  a  man  who  faltered  at  nothing  when  his  mind  was 
made  up,  but  she  could  see  him  tremble. 

His  speech  was  so  astounding  that  she  could  scarcely 
believe  that  she  heard  him  aright.  She  felt  the  blood  rush 
to  her  cheeks  in  testimony  to  the  audacity  of  the  insult. 
Coming  from  this  man  such  an  avowal  inspired  her  with 
rage  and  disgust.  He,  the  society  costermonger,  sighing 


102  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

at  her  feet !  Bali  !  It  seemed  too  degrading  to  be  true. 
It  could  not  be  true.  And  yet  there  he  was  and  a  response 
was  necessary.  A  politic  response,  too,  or  all  was  lost.  If 
she  rejected  him  he  would  have  her  arrested.  Her  mind 
was  made  up. 

"  I  know,"  he  continued,  as  she  did  not  speak,  "  that 
my  proposition  seems  at  first  distasteful,  but  there  is  much 
to  be  said  in  its  favor." 

"  Yes  ?"  she  queried,  looking  at  the  ground. 

"  I  love  you.  If  we  fly  to  America,  what  is  there  to 
prevent  our  success  ?  We  are  both  clever.  I  am  rich, 
and  you  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world." 

"  Your  offer  is  so  abrupt  that  I  do  not  know  what  to 
answer.  Give  me  time,  Mr.  Jawkins." 

"  No,  no  ;  now,  at  once.  The  steamer  sails  day  after 
to-morrow, "  he  uttered  hoarsely,  and  he  seized  her  hand 
and  kissed  it  with  passion. 

"  A  guinea,"  she  cried  banteringly,  and  she  looked  into 
his  face  with  her  beautiful  violet  eyes,  as  she  had  into  many 
another  whose  love,  though  nobly  born,  had  been  no  less 
scorned  in  the  days  gone  by. 

"  Guineas  for  such  as  you  !  You  shall  have  millions. 
And  you  will  go  ?' ' 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  "  I  will  go." 

He  sought  to  embrace  her,  but  she  eluded  his  grasp. 
"  Not  yet — not  yet.  You  must  wait."  So  great  was  her 
disgust  that  she  feared  lest  she  should  break  out  in  rage 
and  denounce  him.  Following  after  her  scene  with 
Geoffrey  the  very  intensity  of  his  passion  wrought  disagree 
ably  upon  her  nerves.  She  felt  the  irony  of  fate.  Yet  the 
reflection  steeled  her  purpose  and  gave  her  strength  to 
smile  and  seem  to  accept  his  advances. 


SPRET^l  INJURIA   FORMAL.  103 

She  placed  her  hand,  glistening  with  rings,  upon  his 
sleeve.  "  I  will  meet  you  in  town  to-morrow,  anywhere 
3rou  select. ' ' 

"  No,  you  must  not  leave  me  now." 

"It  is  absolutely  necessary.  I  have  my  things  to  get 
ready. ' ' 

"  My  servants  will  supply  all  that  you  need." 

"Ah,  you  do  not  understand  women's  needs,"  she 
murmured,  coquettishly,  and  she  turned  to  get  into  the 
phaeton,  which  just  then  had  driven  up  to  the  door.  It 
had  been  ordered  for  Jawkins's  morning  airing,  but  it 
suited  her  convenience  admirably. 

He  made  a  movement  to  follow  her,  but  she  turned  and 
spoke  to  him  in  French.  "  Do  you  not  understand  that 
caution  is  necessary  ?  We  must  not  be  seen  together.  I 
will  meet  you  at  noon  to-morrow  in  South  Kensington 
Gardens.  Adieu."  She  smiled  upon  him,  and  her  glance 
had  all  the  sweetness  of  that  which  Vivien  bent  on  Merlin. 
"  To  the  station  !"  she  said  to  the  coachman. 

It  took  her  some  time  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  realize 
the  situation.  The  effrontery  of  Jawkins  seemed  so  daring 
that  she  almost  laughed  aloud.  She  had  escaped  from  his 
clutches  for  a  moment,  but  it  was  only  a  respite,  a  breath 
ing  spell  which  would  soon  be  over.  It  would  be  neces 
sary  to  provide  for  the  morrow.  But  that  reflection  dis 
turbed  her  little.  She  was  free  to  pursue  the  object  of  her 
journey  and  satisfy  the  desire  for  revenge  which  filled  her 
heart.  As  the  train  whirled  toward  London  she  whetted 
the  stiletto  of  vengeance  upon  the  grindstone  of  her 
wounded  feelings.  That  paper  exhibited  by  Dacre  would 
furnish  the  needed  proof  of  conspiracy,  and  then  good-by, 
Lord  Brompton,  to  your  cherished  schemes  for  fortune. 


104  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

It  made  her  wince  to  think  that  she  had  been  discarded  for 
an  awkward  hoyden  of  a  girl,  her  equal  in  no  particular. 
So  she  stigmatized  her  rival,  as  she  chose  to  consider 
Maggie  Windsor.  "  He  loved  me  in  the  days  of  my  green 
maidenhood, ' '  she  said  to  herself,  ' '  but  now  that  I  am 
become  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  England  he  disdains 
me."  Even  Jawkins  had  spoken  of  her  as  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  world. 

The  thought  of  Jawkins  recalled  the  incident  of  the 
morning,  which,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  mood,  she  had  for 
gotten.  Somehow  or  other  the  idea  of  quitting  the  coun 
try  in  his  company  seemed  less  repulsive  to  her  than  at 
first.  He  was  rich,  and  she  would  no  longer  be  obliged  to 
support  herself  by  a  degrading  occupation.  After  the  first 
buzz  of  scandal  and  excitement  at  her  elopement  the  world 
would  cease  to  prattle,  or  if  it  did  she  would  be  in 
America  and  safe  from  its  strictures.  The  King  was  too 
poor  in  friends  to  refuse  her  recognition  at  his  court. 
And,  after  all,  there  need  be  no  scandal.  She  would  go  to 
America  in  the  role  of  a  professional  beauty  and  Jawkins 
should  be  her  manager.  She  would  keep  him  at  a  re 
spectful  distance  and  squeeze  money  out  of  him  by  dint  of 
promises.  Once  in  America  she  would  seek  to  fascinate 
the  King.  She  was  weary  of  England.  She  had  ex 
hausted  its  resources,  and  it  would  be  amusing  to  visit  the 
great  ideal  Republic,  of  whose  magnificent  prosperity  she 
had  read  until  her  mouth  watered.  Yes,  let  this  matter  of 
a  conspiracy  be  set  at  rest  and  Geoffrey  lodged  in  prison, 
and  she  would  go.  Her  glorious  eyes  sparkled  with  inter 
est.  She  would  have  done  with  the  platitudes  and  dreari 
ness  of  private  life.  A  grand  career  loomed  up  before  her 
across  the  ocean,  where  men  lavished  millions  at  the  die- 


SPRETsE  INJURIA  FORMJE.  105 

tate  of  imagination  and  put  no  limit  upon  enthusiasm.  A 
fig  for  the  dream  of  an  absorbing  love,  such  as  for  an  hour 
yesterday  had  flitted  through  her  brain.  She  would 
trample  on  its  ashes  after  she  had  sated  her  vengeance. 

In  this  mood  she  reached  London.  She  took  a  four- 
wheel  cab  and  told  the  man  to  drive  her  to  Buckingham 
Palace.  Shrouding  her  features  she  sank  back  from  obser 
vation.  Had  she  not  preferred  to  screen  her  face  she  was 
free  to  enjoy  the  emotions  of  a  celebrity.  Her  photograph 
was  in  the  shop-window  of  every  picture-dealer  in  town. 
Her  sympathy  with  the  Royalists  had,  it  is  true,  lessened 
her  popularity  for  a  time,  but  supreme  beauty  is  the  one 
attribute  which  disarms  prejudice  and  converts  ill-will. 

London  at  this  period,  like  the  rest  of  England,  showed 
marks  of  the  unhappy  condition  of  its  affairs.  The  thor 
oughfares,  parks  and  public  buildings  looked  dirty  and 
uncared  for.  An  atmosphere  of  gloom  overhung  Mayfair 
like  a  pall,  as  though  the  very  fog  had  taken  advantage  of 
the  situation  and  was  clamoring  for  spoils.  It  was,  in 
truth,  a  system  of  spoils  that  had  been  inaugurated  in  this 
former  stronghold  of  constitutional  liberty.  The  present 
government  gave  every  facility  to  those  who  advocated  pop 
ular  principles  with  the  aim  of  feathering  their  own  nests. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  social  craze  all  that  tended  to 
promote  external  beauty  of  architecture  or  equipment  was 
discountenanced,  and  a  sodden  rule  of  ignorant  craft  and 
vulgarity  was  settled  upon  the  nation.  Those  at  the  helm 
were  clever  demagogues  who  were  prepared  to  humor  the 
people,  provided  they  had  the  control  of  the  public  funds 
wherewith  to  indulge  their  licentious  tastes.  President 
Bagshaw  had  converted  Buckingham  Palace  into  a  barracks, 
where  he  sat  day  in,  day  out,  with  boon  companions. 


106  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Entrance  was  forbidden  to  none.  The  dirtiest  scavenger 
might  there  at  any  moment  shake  the  hand  of  the  people's 
chief  representative. 

Mrs.  Carey  alighted,  and  found  herself  exposed  to  the 
gaze  of  a  group  of  rough,  groggy-looking  individuals  who 
were  hanging  about  the  entrance  to  the  once  famous 
palace.  All  the  way  down  Regent  Street  she  had  peeped 
out  from  the  cab  windows,  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  familiar 
faces  or  fascinating  wares  in  the  shopping  paradise  of  the 
late  nobility  ;  but,  though  the  stores  still  stood,  few  passers 
were  to  be  seen,  and  the  filthy,  smoky  aspect  of  the  side 
walks  told  that  anarchy  was  rampant  even  here.  Revolu 
tion  is  silent  in  England.  The  people  uprising  in  their 
might  do  not  overturn  monuments  and  lop  the  limbs  from 
statues.  They  let  the  dust  and  the  smoke  and  the  fog  do 
the  work  for  them.  Only  one  face  was  recognized  by  Mrs. 
Carey  as  the  vehicle  rumbled  down  to  its  destination.  She 
caught  sight  of  her  husband  leaning  out  of  one  of  the  win- 
dows  of  Fenton's  Hotel  smoking  a  pipe.  The  once  fam 
ous  hostelry  had  become  a  haunt  for  pothouse  politicians. 
A  sudden  impulse  of  generosity  seized  her.  "  I  will  invite 
Oswald  to  dinner  with  me  to-night,"  thought  she. 

As  she  walked  into  the  palace  the  men  made  way  for  her 
in  silence.  They  removed  the  pipes  from  their  mouths  and 
stared  in  mingled  bewilderment  and  admiration.  Despite 
her  veil  she  was  too  striking  looking  not  to  fetter  the  atten 
tion  of  even  the  most  listless,  for  the  disgust  with  which 
these  surroundings  inspired  her  and  the  tenacity  of  her 
cruel  design  gave  her  a  bearing  such  as  Clytemnestra  might 
have  envied.  She  stalked  through  the  corridor  and  up  the 
stairs,  disregarding  the  gilded  hand  and  tin  sign  which 
read,  "  To  the  President's  Room.  Second  Story.  Take 


SPRET^E  IN  JUKI  A   FORM^E.  107 

the  Elevator."  The  idlers  in  the  lobby  had  recognized 
her,  and  a  whisper  spread  until  it  swelled  into  a  buzz  out 
side  that  she  was  the  professional  beauty. 

"  Can  I  see  the  President  ?''  she  asked  of  a  policeman 
who  alone  guarded  the  door  of  the  chief  magistrate. 

"Name,  please,"  said  the  functionary,  who  still  clung 
to  this  relic  of  the  formality  of  the  past. 

"  Say  a  lady,"  she  said,  haughtily,  and  the  man,  im 
pressed  by  her  mien,  threw  open  the  door. 

Mrs.  Carey  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  large, 
heavily  built  man,  with  a  bald  head  and  long,  coal-black 
beard,  who  was  sitting  at  a  desk.  He  was  smoking,  and 
the  spacious  but  bare  room  was  thick  with  tobacco  smoke. 
A  table,  on  which  were  empty  bottles  and  the  remains  of  a 
lunch,  stood  in  one  corner.  Several  men,  who  also  had 
cigars  in  their  mouths,  were  sprawling  on  an  enamel  cloth 
lounge  in  the  bay-window  which  commanded  the  street. 
At  her  entrance  these  latter  arose,  and,  at  a  glance  from 
their  chief  at  the  desk,  shambled  out  of  the  room  by  a  side 
door,  casting,  however,  over  their  shoulders  glances  of 
curiosity  and  surprise.  She  waited  until  they  had  closed 
the  door,  then  lifted  her  veil. 

President  Bagshaw  rose  and  made  a  bow,  which  was  an 
unusual  act  of  homage  on  his  part,  for  he  was  a  woman- 
hater  as  well  as  an  atheist.  He  even  removed  the  cigar 
from  his  mouth. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  madam  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  important  information  for  the  government." 
She  paused  an  instant.  ' '  Are  we  quite  alone  ?' ' 

The  President  went  to  the  side  door,  and  carefully  bolted 
it.  Then  he  resumed  his  seat,  and,  resting  his  ponderous, 
seamy  jaw  upon  the  flat  of  his  hand,  waited  for  her  to 


io8  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

begin.  He  was  used  to  all  sorts  of  devices  as  a  prelude  to 
requests  for  office  or  emolument,  and  his  expression  be 
tokened  little  interest  or  expectation.  Had  not  the  serious 
character  of  the  communication  she  was  about  to  make 
rendered  coquetry  at  the  moment  distasteful  to  Mrs.  Carey, 
she  would  assuredly  have  been  tempted  to  tamper  with  the 
indifference  of  this  matter- of  fact  personage,  who  even 
already  had  recovered  from  the  trifling  shock  to  his  princi 
ples  which  her  entrance  had  caused. 

"I  have  proofs,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone,  "of  a  seri 
ous  conspiracy  among  the  Royalists." 

His  countenance  changed  a  little,  and  a  contracted 
brow  of  a  business  man  became  noticeable.  "  In  what 
part  of  the  Republic  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  a  widely  concerted  plot  in  which  all  the  leading 
Royalists  in  the  country  are  engaged.  The  King  himself 
is  privy  to  the  affair.  The  outbreak  is  to  occur  at  Alder- 
shot  on  the  24th  of  November.  Many  of  the  troops  have 
been  suborned." 

11  Who  are  the  leaders  of  this  conspiracy  ?" 

"The  prime  movers  are  Sir  John'Dacre  and  Lord 
Brompton.  It  was  at  the  latter' s  house  that  I  learned  the 
particulars  of  the  affair." 

Clytemnestra  never  plied  the  sword  more  ruthlessly  than 
this  jealous  woman  doomed  to  destruction  the  man  who 
had  spurned  her  love. 

The  President  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Have  you  proofs 
of  what  you  tell  me  ?" 

She  took  from  her  muff  Colonel  Arundel's  letter  and 
handed  it  to  him.  "  You  will  find  there,  sir,  a  list  of  the 
leading  rebels  and  the  army  officers  implicated. ' ' 

He  scanned  it  eagerly.      "  H'm  ;  yes,    this  speaks  for 


IN  JUKI  A   FORM&.  109 

itself.  And  what,"  he  continued  presently,  with  a  poli 
tician's  quick  sense,  can  I  do  for  you  in  return?"  The 
idea  of  being  loyal  for  nothing  would  never  have  occurred 
to  President  Bagshaw. 

"  The  time  may  come  when  I  shall  ask  a  favor  of  the 
government,  but  not  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Carey.  "  My 
only  request  is  that  my  name  shall  not  be  mentioned  in 
the  matter.  Is  that  agreed  upon  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  desire  it.  But,  madam,"  continued 
the  demagogue,  ' '  the  people  are  grateful  to  you  for  the 
service  you  have  done  them." 

4 '  You  had  better  ascertain  first,  Mr.  President,  that  my 
information  is  authentic,"  she  said,  rising  and  drawing 
about  her  comely  shoulders  the  folds  of  her  cloak,  as 
though  to  silence  the  conflicting  forces  of  love  and  ven 
geance  working  in  her  soul. 

The  great  man  opened  the  door  for  her  himself.  She 
bent  him  a  stately,  solemn  courtesy,  and  covering  her  face 
passed  slowly  down  the  stairs. 

A  telegraph  company  had  an  office  in  the  basement  of 
the  palace.  Here  she  wrote  a  message  to  Jarley  Jawkins, 
which  was  worded  : 

"  Must  postpone  journey  three  weeks.  Leave  me  alone 
until  then.  C." 

When  she  had  dispatched  this  she  bade  the  driver  stop 
at  Fenton's,  where  she  picked  up  her  husband  and  took 
him  to  Greenwich  for  a  quiet  fish  dinner.  Oswald  asked 
her,  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  what  business  she  had  at 
Buckingham  Palace. 

"  I  was  trying  to  have  you  reappointed  to  your  old  place 
in  the  Stamp  and  Sealing-wax  Office,  and  I  expect  to  suc 
ceed,"  was  her  reply. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  THE    COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVE." 

WHEN  Geoffrey  awakened  on  the  morning  after  the 
coaching  party,  he  lay  for  some  minutes  dreamily  revolving 
in  his  head  the  events  of  the  last  two  days.  He  felt  that 
he  had  reached  a  crisis  in  his  life,  and  as  he  stretched  him 
self  on  his  narrow  bed  he  groaned  inwardly  at  the  per 
plexity  and  danger  of  the  situation  in  which  he  found  him 
self.  After  his  lonely  existence  he  was  suddenly  in  the 
vortex  of  the  whirlpool.  He  had  promised  his  life  to  Sir 
John  Dacre  and  to  his  country  to  be  staked  upon  a  haz 
ard,  which  he  thought  to  be  hopeless,  and  knew  to  be  des 
perate.  He  did  not  think  of  swerving  from  this  promise, 
for  he  felt  that  he  must  be  true  to  his  order  and  to  high 
patriotism. 

He  winced,  too,  as  he  thought  of  the  scene  with  Mrs. 
Carey  in  the  ruins  of  the  'Cathedral.  He  knew  that  he 
could  not  have  averted  it,  for  it  had  broken  upon  him  with 
the  suddenness  of  a  summer  shower.  He  had  entered  into 
a  dangerous  conspiracy,  and  had  made  a  deadly  enemy  on 
the  same  day. 

He  was  sure  that  Miss  Windsor  had  seen  the  affair  in 
the  ruins.  He  had  given  the  ribbons  on  the  drive  home 
to  Dacre,  and  had  taken  his  place  by  Maggie's  side  on  the 


"THE   COURSE    OF  TRUE  LOVE."          in 

back  seat,  but  she  had  been  cold  and  constrained,  and  had 
answered  his  remarks  with  monosyllables.  The  party  was 
so  gloomy  that  it  was  a  positive  relief  when  a  cold  drizzling 
rain  set  in,  and  mackintoshes  and  cloaks  covered  up  the 
faces  of  all,  and  made  conversation  difficult.  But,  after 
thinking  of  the  dark  side  of  the  medal,  Geoffrey  gave  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  and  cast  off  for  a  moment  gloomy 
thoughts,  as  a  duck  shakes  off  water  from  its  oily  plumage. 

"  Mrs.  Carey  was  right,"  he  said  ;  "  love  is  the  great 
thing,  after  all  ;  and  I  love  Maggie  Windsor.  I  have  little 
enough  to  offer  her,  not  even  my  life,  for  that  I  promised 
to  John  Dacre,  and  the  reversion  is  not  worth  much,  I 
fear.  My  title  !  Ah,  that  is  an  offering  indeed  ;  a  title  by 
courtesy,  in  a  democracy  which  at  the  same  time  sneers  at 
and  cringes  to  it.  But  I  love  her,  and  if  a  man  comes  to 
a  woman  with  a  sincere  love  he  will  at  least  be  heard." 

Then  the  thought  of  his  promise  to  Dacre  filled  his  mind 
and  heart,  and  he  groaned  aloud. 

"  How  can  I  speak  to  her  of  love,  when  I  am  on  the 
verge  of  this  emeute  at  Aldershot  ?  And  yet  I  cannot  give 
up  life  without  having  had  the  satisfaction  of  its  one  joy, 
its  one  reality  !  I  love  Margaret  Windsor,  and  there  is  a 
chance,  a  bare  chance,  of  her  loving  me.  Why  did  she 
pick  out  my  old  house,  when  she  knew  that  I  was  living 
here,  if  she  did  not  wish  to  see  me  again  ?  Conspiracy  or 
no  conspiracy,  my  poverty,  her  riches,  go  hang.  I  shall 
ask  for  her  love  this  very  day." 

He  had  finished  a  very  elaborate  toilet  for  him,  and 
Reynolds  appeared  to  summon  him  to  his  breakfast,  which 
the  faithful  servitor  cooked  and  served  to  him  in  the  old 
sitting-room.  As  Geoffrey  cracked  his  eggs  and  drank  his 
coffee,  Reynolds  looked  wistfully  at  his  master's  handsome 


H2  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

face,  for  he  saw  a  new  expression  there — a  look  bright  with 
hope  and  the  consciousness  of  an  awakened  soul — and  the 
old  servant  wondered  whether  the  beautiful  woman,  who 
had  visited  the  house  two  nights  before,  had  changed  his 
master's  face  so.  He  noticed,  too,  that  Geoffrey  was 
smartly  dressed,  and  that  he  had  tied  his  neck -tie  with 
great  care,  and  had  put  on  a  coat  from  one  of  the  crack 
New  York  tailors,  so  that  when  the  old  servitor  disappeared 
to  polish  his  master's  boots  he  said  to  himself  : 

"  The  young  earl  is  going  courting,  for  a  certainty,  and 
a  fine  lady  he  will  bring  home  as  his  bride.  Will  she  buy 
back  his  house  and  lands  for  him,  I  wonder  ?' '  And 
Reynolds  smiled  to  himself  as  he  pictured  the  head  of  his 
beloved  family  restored  to  his  own  again  and  Ripon  House 
under  the  faithful  Reynolds,  major-domo. 

The  dinner  at  Ripon  House  after  the  coaching-party  had 
been  dull  indeed.  Mrs.  Carey  had  sent  her  excuses  to 
Miss  Windsor,  and  the  latter,  who  had  seen  her  head  upon 
Geoffrey's  shoulder  in  the  Cathedral  in  the  morning,  was 
relieved  at  hearing  them. 

For  within  Maggie's  tender  heart  a  love  for  Geoffrey 
Ripon  had  gained  the  mastery  since  the  interview  in  the 
secret  chamber.  Long  had  that  love  haunted  her  gentle 
heart,  a  shade  at  first,  which  flitted  away  for  a  while,  only 
to  return  again  and  trouble  her.  But  just  as  she  had  in 
stalled  her  love  in  the  innermost  sanctuary,  fair  and  god 
like,  she  had  discovered,  as  she  thought,  that  her  idol  had 
feet  of  clay  ;  that  the  man  whose  lips  and  tongue  told  her 
that  he  loved  her  on  the  one  day  was  on  the  next  saying 
the  same  thing  with  the  same  lying  lips  to  another  woman. 

Mrs.  Carey  had  been  Geoffrey's  first  love.  Sir  John  had 
told  her  that,  she  remembered.  "  He  loves  her  still  and 


"  THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE."          113 

he  pretends  to  care  for  me  because  I  am  rich,"  she  said 
to  herself  as  she  lay  tossing  sleepless  during  the  night,  a 
dull  pang  racking  her  heart  with  a  real  physical  pain.  In 
the  early  morning  she  arose  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
over  toward  Geoffrey's  house,  down  over  the  lawn  and  the 
cliff  path  and  the  leafy  chestnut  trees. 

lt  He  is  false,"  she  said  to  herself,  thinking  of  our  hero 
who  was  sleeping  so  soundly  under  the  little  roof  in  the 
valley.  "  He  tried  to  talk  with  me  on  the  drive  home  as 
if  nothing  had  happened.  He  is  an  actor  who  plays  at 
love,  and  his  eyes  and  his  tongue  are  under  his  control  as 
if  he  were  the  walking  gentleman  in  the  comedy,  who 
kisses  the  maid  while  he  is  waiting  in  the  parlor  for  the 
mistress.  He  does  not  love  Margaret  Windsor  ;  he  loves 
her  father's  stocks  and  bonds,  and  he  longs  for  riches, 
even  with  the  encumbrance  of  a  wife." 

She  smiled  bitterly  as  she  thought  of  the  breaking  up  of 
her  dream  of  love,  and  she  almost  cursed  the  riches  which 
had  weighed  her  down  and  had  filled  her  with  suspicion  of 
all  the  men  who  had  ever  asked  her  hand  in  marriage. 
She  had  thought  that  Geoffrey  had  been  prevented  from 
asking  for  it  two  years  before  because  he  had  felt  that  she 
was  rich  and  he  was  poor.  When  he  had  bade  her  fare 
well  in  Paris  he  had  hesitated  and  tried  to  say  something  to 
her,  she  remembered,  but  had  compressed  his  lips  into  a 
forced  smile  and  taken  his  leave  of  her. 

As  she  looked  out  the  window  she  heard  a  rumble  of 
wheels  and  saw  the  phaeton  rolling  Mrs.  Carey  down  to 
the  station. 

"  What  is  that  woman  doing  at  this  hour  in  the  morn 
ing?"  Maggie  asked  herself,  looking  with  hot,  jealous 
eyes  at  the  beauty  as  she  sat  back  in  the  phaeton.  "  It  is 


ii4  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

dreadful  to  have  such  a  person  under  one's  roof.  I  hope 
that  she  is  gone  and  that  she  will  not  return.  I  suppose, 
though,  that  she  is  to  meet  Lord  Brompton  somewhere." 

And  so  it  happened  that  at  the  moment  that  Geoffrey 
felt  the  first  pulsing  strength  of  his  love  for  her,  and  vowed 
that  he  would,  despite  her  riches  and  his  entanglements, 
strive  to  gain  her,  Maggie  was  strangling  her  old  love  for 
him,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with  jealous  fears  ;  and  the 
woman  whose  wild  passion  had  ruffled  the  current  of  their 
true  love  was  speeding  to  London  to  work  their  ruin. 

Breakfast  at  Ripon  House  was  a  straggling,  informal 
meal,  and  the  men  came  down  in  pink  coats.  They  were 
going  hunting  on  an  anise-seed  trail,  and  ordered  what 
they  wished,  standing  by  the  side-board  and  eating.  Mag 
gie,  after  the  men  had  followed  the  hounds,  left  the  other 
ladies  gossiping  together  in  the  library  before  the  fire. 

She  walked  down  the  cliff  path  which  led  to  the  shingle 
beach,  upon  which  the  small  craft  of  the  fishermen  in  the 
little  village  were  hauled  up. 

Against  one  of  the  boats  a  fisherman,  dressed  in  oil 
skins,  was  leaning.  He  had  a  paint-brush  in  his  hand, 
and  he  was  gazing  out  ruefully  over  the  bay,  which  was 
lashed  into  white  caps  by  the  strong  breeze.  When  he  saw 
Maggie,  he  pulled  at  his  forelock  and  set  to  work  vigor 
ously  with  his  paint-brush  on  the  stern  of  his  boat,  daubing 
with  the  black  paint  over  the  name  of  the  craft.  As  the 
fisherman  obliterated  the  name,  Maggie  noticed  that  his 
hand  trembled  and  that  he  turned  his  head  away  from  her 
that  she  might  not  see  his  face. 

'•'  What  are  you  doing,  my  good  man  ?"  she  asked, 
coming  near  him,  for  she  saw  that  he  was  in  distress. 

"  Painting  and  caulking  my  old  boat,  miss,"  answered 


"THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE."  115 

the  fisherman,  blotting  out  the  last  letters  with  a  long 
smear  of  paint. 

"  But  you  are  painting  out  the  name  ?"  said  Maggie,  in 
quiringly. 

"  I  have  a  new  name  for  the  craft,  miss,"  he  answered, 
in  a  hoarse  voice  :  "  the  '  Lone  Star  '  ;  and  I  am  painting 
out  the  old  name,  the  Mary  Mallow,  which  I  gave  her  after 
my  wife  ;  but,  saving  your  presence,  miss,  she  desarted  me 
these  six  months  ago  ;  I  was  too  rough  and  common  for 
her,  I  suppose." 

He  put  his  rough  hand  over  his  eyes.  "  It  goes  against 
my  heart  to  paint  her  name  out ;  but,  as  things  are  now, 
the  '  Lone  Star'  is  better." 

Maggie  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  unconscious  poetry 
of  the  poor  fellow  and  at  the  likeness  between  her  lot  and 
his. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  man,"  she  said,  and  she 
slipped  a  coin  into  his  hand.  "  Put  in  a  gilt  star  on  the 
stern  with  this.  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  you  to  have  your 
boat  smart."  The  man  took  the  coin  and  looked  at  it 
vacantly.  Maggie  left  him  and  kept  on  her  way  over  the 
beach,  past  the  boats  and  the  drying  nets,  and  the  great 
heaps  of  seaweed  and  kelp,  to  the  headland  which  jutted 
out  into  the  sea  beyond  the  village.  Once  there  she  seated 
herself  in  a  deep  recess  of  the  cliff  which  commanded  a 
view  of  the  bay. 

"  And  now  I  am  alone,  entirely  alone,  and  I  cannot  be 
disturbed,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Down  below  her  the  breakers  rolled  in  over  the  seaweed- 
covered  rocks,  and  dashed  into  a  deep  chasm  in  the  rocks, 
cleft  by  the  attrition  of  ages,  breaking  with  a  dull  sough 
upon  the  farthermost  end  of  the  cleft. 


n6  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Maggie  could  see  nothing  from  her  perch  but  the  sea, 
and  the  opposite  cliff  upon  which  Ripon  House  stood.  A 
few  wheeling  sea-gulls,  and  a  small  fishing-boat,  beating 
out  of  the  harbor,  were  the  only  living  objects  in  the  view. 
The  waves,  crest  over  crest,  hurried  toward  the  headland, 
and  beat  into  foam  at  her  feet.  Her  mind  was  soothed  by 
watching  the  torn  waters,  as  each  wave  dashed  out  its  life, 
in  a  thousand  swirls  and  white  bubbles  of  foam. 

Suddenly  she  was  startled  from  her  reverie  by  hearing 
Geoffrey  call  her  name,  and  she  saw  him  on  the  rocks  be 
low  her. 

He  looked  more  than  pleased  at  getting  so  good  a 
chance  to  see  her  alone. 

"Ah,  Lord  Brompton,"  she  said,  coldly,  looking  at 
him,  but  not  inviting  him  to  come  up  by  her.  "  What  has 
brought  you  out  here  ?" 

' '  You.  I  was  on  my  way  to  make  a  call  upon  you, 
and  just  as  I  reached  the  top  of  the  cliff  I  saw  you  on  the 
beach,  talking  with  a  fisherman.  May  I  come  up  to 
you?" 

Maggie  glanced  down  at  him,  and  saw  that  he  was 
dressed  with  more  than  ordinary  care  ;  in  spite  of  her  hard 
feelings  toward  him  she  could  not  help  smiling  at  the 
thought  that  he  had  been  prinking  all  the  morning  to  look 
well  when  he  came  courting. 

Geoffrey  saw  her  smile,  and  started  to  climb  up  to  her 
side. 

' '  There  is  not  room  up  here  for  two,  I  am  afraid, ' '  she 
said  in  a  determined  voice. 

"  I  will  sit  on  the  sharpest  edge  of  the  rock,"  pleaded 
Geoffrey. 

"  It  would  make  me  uncomfortable  to  see  you  suffer, 


"THE   COURSE  OF   TRUE  LOVE:'          117 

just  as  it  would  to  see  anything  in  pain,"  she  added  hastily. 
"  What  did  it  matter  to  her,"  she  thought,  "  whether  Lord 
Brompton  suffered  or  not  ?' ' 

"  I  would  not  suffer  when  I  am  near  you,"  said 
Geoffrey,  a  little  plaintively,  wondering  why  he  was  treated 
so  badly. 

"  If  you  came  you  would  not  be  more  entertaining  than 
Heine,  would  you?"  asked  Maggie,  looking  mockingly 
down  into  his  gray  eyes.  * 

"  Damn  Heine,"  thought  Geoffrey,  as  he  lifted  himself 
up  over  the  rocks.  Miss  Windsor  huddled  herself  far  into 
a  corner  of  the  niche.  There  was  plenty  of  room  for  two 
there  after  all  ;  yet  Geoffrey  seated  himself  in  a  most  un 
comfortable  attitude,  with  his  stick  over  his  knees,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  her. 

' '  He  has  come  after  the  stocks  and  bonds, ' '  said  Maggie 
to  herself,  as  she  steeled  her  heart  against  his  winning  face 
and  his  manly  simplicity  of  manner.  She  tried  to  say 
something  about  the  sea  and  the  view,  but  he  looked  at  her 
earnestly,  and  said,  in  a  low,  hurried  voice  : 

"  Miss  Windsor,  I  have  sought  you  out  to-day  with  a 
definite  purpose.  I  sincerely  hope  that  you  were  not  dis 
pleased  at  seeing  me.  You  know  why  I  wish  to  see 
you." 

Maggie  turned  away  her  head  :  there  was  a  sincere  ring 
to  his  voice  ;  could  it  be  possible  that  he  really  cared  for 
her,  loved  her,  Maggie  Windsor  ?  Ah,  no  ;  she  remem 
bered  Mrs.  Carey,  and  said  nothing. 

"Miss  Windsor— Maggie,"  he  said,  "I  know  that  I 
have  no  right  to  ask  you  to  marry  me,  save  that  I  love  you 
with  a  single  heart." 

"Oh,  Mr.   Doubleface,"   she  thought,  "how  fair  you 


u8  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

talk!"  She  still  said  nothing,  but  tapped  the  stone  in 
front  of  her  nervously  with  the  end  of  her  little  boot. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you,"  continued  Geoffrey, 
"  except  my  love  and  my  name  ;  I  do  not  even  know 
whether  I  even  have  a  life  to  give  you." 

Maggie  was  startled  by  this  ;  she  did  not  understand  it 
at  all.  Geoffrey  waited  for  her  to  say  something,  and  there 
was  a  depressing  pause  for  a  moment. 

She  f^lt  that  she  had  grown  pale,  and  her  fingers  twitched 
convulsively  at  the  handle  of  her  parasol.  Here  was  her 
lover  saying  to  her  all  that  she  had  dreamed  he  might  say, 
saying  in  an  earnest,  trembling  voice  that  he  loved  her  ;  in 
a  voice  so  different  to  his  customary  tone  of  banter,  that 
she  for  a  moment  almost  Relieved  in  his  sincerity  ;  yet  as 
she  averted  her  face  and  looked  over  the  bay  she  could 
see  clearly  in  her  mind's  eye  the  little  picture  which  had 
remained  in  it  from  yesterday — her  lover  holding  Mrs. 
Carey  in  his  arms. 

"  Lord  Brompton,"  she  finally  said,  in  a  slow,  deliberate 
voice,  from  which  all  passion,  even  all  affection  was  want 
ing,  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  in  this  way, 
very  sorry. ' ' 

Poor  Geoffrey  had  expected  a  different  answer,  and  as 
he  sat  there  looking  at  Maggie's  pale,  agitated  face,  he  felt 
that  there  was  a  wall  between  them,  where  he  had  always 
found  a  kindly  sympathy  and  an  affectionate  interest  be 
fore.  He  had  expected,  perhaps,  that  she  might  not  care 
about  him  enough  to  marry  him,  for  he  was  not  so  young 
or  conceited  as  to  imagine  that  the  priceless  treasure  of  a 
woman's  heart  is  to  be  lightly  won  at  the  first  asking,  but 
he  had  thought  that  his  sweetheart  would  sympathize  with 
him  at  his  loss  of  her  ;  with  the  touching  pity  which  at 


"THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE."          119 

such  times  is  so  akin  to  love  and  often  its  forerunner. 
Still  he  boldly  went  on  with  his  declaration,  feeling  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  leave  a  word  unsaid  of  all  that  had  swelled 
his  heart  with  love  and  hope.  If  his  love  were  all  poured 
out  and  spurned,  would  not  the  chambers  of  his  heart  be 
swept  and  garnished  for  the  future  ? 

Yet  what  a  desolate,  haunted  chamber  it  will  be,  he  bit 
terly  thought. 

"  I  could  not  have  told  you  a  week  ago  that  I  loved 
you,  Maggie,"  he  said.  "  But  I  did,  though  ;  only  I  did 
not  know  it.  I  must  have  loved  you  since  the  day  I  first 
met  you  at  the  ball.  You  remember  it,  do  you  not  ? 
When  you  first  smiled  at  me  I  felt  that  we  had  always 
known  each  other  ;  and  that  evening  I  was  content.  Will 
you  make  me  so  for  all  my  life  ?"  He  leaned  over  toward 
her  and  tried  to  take  one  of  her  hands  ;  she  edged  it  away 
from  him,  and  turned  toward  him  with  flashing  eyes  and 
thin,  compressed  lips. 

"  It  is  not  possible  that  I  shall  ever  care  for  you,  Lord 
Brompton,  in  the  way  in  which  you  pretend  to  care  for 
me." 

"  Pretend  to  care  for  you  !"  he  said,  angrily.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Why  should  I  come  to  you  with 
pretences  ?  What  should  I  gain  by  making  a  lying  love  to 
you  ?' ' 

"  Everything,"  she  answered,  coldly. 

* '  I  do  not  care  to  argue  this,  Miss  Windsor, ' '  he  said, 
turning  his  face  away,  pained  to  the  heart.  "I  am  in 
such  a  position  that  I  may  not ;  but  I  wished,  while  I  had 
a  chance,  to  tell  you  that  I  loved  you.  Good-by,  Maggie, 
good- by.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  melodramatic  ;  but  you 
may  never  see  me  again. ' ' 


120  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

He  kissed  one  of  her  hands,  which  lay  at  her  side,  and 
lifting  himself  from  the  rock,  climbed  down  the  cliff,  a 
mist  of  tears  before  his  eyes  ;  and  Maggie  sat  looking  over 
the  bay  silent  and  sad,  trying  to  reconcile  the  evident  gen 
uineness  of  Geoffrey's  entreaty  with  what  she  knew  of  him. 

Late  that  evening  Mary  Lincoln  was  sitting  in  her  bed 
room,  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire.  Her  thoughts  were  of 
Sir  John  Dacre. 

In  him  she  saw  the  hero  of  whom  she  had  dreamed 
during  her  girlhood  ;  the  young  prince  clad  in  golden 
armor,  and  in  quest  of  adventures  and  opportunities  for 
self-sacrifice,  who  should  awake  her  sleeping  heart  with  a 
kiss. 

The  ordinary  warm-hearted  but  pleasure-loving  and 
easy-going  man  cannot  stir  the  depths  of  a  nature  like 
Mary  Lincoln's.  An  earnest,  ardent  spirit,  even  if  it  be 
Quixotic,  so  that  it  see  before  it,  like  a  clear  flame,  some 
duty  to  be  done,  or  some  war  to  be  waged,  attracts  to  it  the 
devotion  of  a  strong  woman's  heart. 

Women  love  adventurous,  single-minded  men,  and  will 
die  for  them,  if  need  be,  gladly  and  silently  ;  but  such 
men,  intent  on  their  object,  seem  oblivious  to  the  wealth 
of  love  that  might  be  theirs  for  the  asking,  were  they  not  too 
absorbed  to  ask  for  it.  And  so  it  was  with  John  Dacre 
and  Mary  Lincoln.  He  was  drawn  to  her  unconsciously 
by  her  lovely  womanhood  ;  but  his  great  dream  seemed  to 
fill  his  mind,  and  that  fulfilled,  the  world  had  nothing  in 
store  for  him.  He  wished  no  rewards,  no  life  for  himself, 
but  to  see  his  King  returned  and  Great  Britain  proud 
among  the  nations  ;  yet  he  liked  to  sit  by  Mary  Lincoln 
and  ponder  his  cherished  dream. 

Of  course  he  would  not  speak  to  her  of  it ;  he  knew  the 


"THE  COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE."  121 

danger  of  his  project ;  yet  she  read  his  heart  and  knew  that 
he  was  deep  in  some  adventure  which  filled  his  life  so  that 
she  had  no  part  in  it.  Still,  she  saw  that  she  attracted 
him,  even  if  he  did  not  know  it,  and  they  talked  together 
about  the  glories  of  the  past  history  of  their  country,  and 
lived  with  the  great  men  who,  with  brain,  and  sword,  and 
pen  had  wrought  for  the  honor  and  fame  of  their  native  land. 

It  was  no  courtship,  no  wooing,  only  a  meeting,  for  a 
brief  space,  of  two  human  beings  who  had  been  made  for 
each  other,  but  whom  fate  separated  by  a  rift  which  could 
not  be  bridged.  Mary  Lincoln  knew  this,  John  Dacre  did 
not ;  but  as  he  had  bade  her  good-night  just  before,  he  felt 
a  sadness  steal  over  his  heart,  and  his  voice  had  trembled 
as  he  spoke.  Even  into  the  heart  of  tlys  man  of  one  idea, 
on  the  eve  of  this  dangerous  conspiracy,  all  unawares  the 
love  god  had  stolen  with  muffled  feet,  so  that  he  did  not 
know  his  presence.  But  Mary  knew. 

There  was  a  little  tap  at  the  door,  and  she  heard  Maggie 
Windsor's  voice  asking  : 

"  May  I  come  in  ?" 

Mary  arose  quickly  and  unbolted  the  door,  and  Maggie 
Windsor  entered. 

11  You  will  excuse  me  for  disturbing  you,  will  you  not  ?" 
asked  Maggie,  whose  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  and 
whose  hair  had  a  dishevelled  look,  as  if  it  had  been  buried 
deep  in  a  pillow.  "  But  I  felt  so  lonely  and  troubled 
to-night  that  I  have  come  to  talk  to  you.7' 

Mary  leaned  over  and  kissed  her  with  tenderness.  '  *  My 
dear  Miss  Windsor, ' '  she  said,  "  I  am  touched  that  yon 
should  come  to  me." 

"Oh,  please  do  not  call  me  Miss  Windsor,  call  ms 
Maggie  ;  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  if  you  call  me  Miss 


122  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Windsor.  You  know  I  never  had  a  mother  ;  and  there 
are  some  things  which  a  girl  must  tell  to  some  one." 

"  Maggie,  dear,"  said  Mary  gently,  "  tell  me  every 
thing.  It  will  ease  your  mind,  even  if  I  cannot  help  you 
in  any  way." 

"  You  cannot  help  me  ;  no  one  can  help  me,"  sobbed 
Maggie,  as  her  friend  put  her  arm  around  her  waist,  and 
gently  stroked  her  hair.  "It  is  only  that  I  love  him  so, 
and  he  is  unworthy  of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  Geoffrey  Ripon  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  Geoffrey  Ripon  unworthy  of  a  woman's  love  !"  ex 
claimed  Mary.  ' '  That  cannot  be.  John  Dacre — ' '  She 
blushed  and  turned  away  her  face,  that  Maggie  might  not 
see  her  as  she  spoke  his  name.  "  John  Dacre  says  that  he 
is  the  soul  of  honor  and  his  life-long  friend." 

"  Oh  !  men  have  such  different  ideas  of  honor  from 
ours,"  exclaimed  Maggie.  Then  she  told  her  friend  in 
broken  speech  of  her  love  for  Geoffrey  ;  that  she  had  sup 
posed  that  he  had  not  told  her  he  loved  her  because  he  felt 
that  he  had  nothing  to  offer  her  ;  that  she  had  come  to 
England  to  see  him  again  ;  and  then  she  told  of  the  dread 
ful  scene  in  Chichester,  and  how  she  had  coldly  rejected 
him  in  the  morning  because  she  believed  he  loved  Eleanor 
Carey,  and  that  he  wished  to  marry  for  money. 

The  story  seemed  shameful  to  her  as  she  told  it  :  her 
forwardness  in  coming  to  England,  and  her  shattered  faith 
in  her  lover. 

"  And  yet  he  seemed  in  earnest  this  morning,  and  he 
appeared  to  love  me,"  she  said  to  Mary,  when  she  had  told 
her  story,  "  and  when  I  told  him,  when  he  asked  me  what 
he  had  to  gain  by  a  pretence  of  loving  me,  that  he  had 


"THE   COURSE   OF  TRUE  LOVE."  123 

everything  to  gain,  his  face  was  deadly  white  and  his  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears.  Oh,  I  almost  believed  in  him  then, 
and  I  should  have  relented  ;  I  fear  I  should  have  been 
weak  enough  to  have  relented  if  he  had  not  left  me  ;  and 
now  it  is  all  over  !" 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  Mary's  face  was  full  of  sympa 
thy,  as  she  whispered  words  of  comfort  in  the  unhappy 
girl's  ear. 

' '  I  own  that  appearances  are  against  him, ' '  she  urged, 
"  but  they  may  be  explained  away.  Mrs.  Carey  is  a  very 
dangerous  and  bad  woman  ;  at  the  moment  when  Geoffrey 
appeared  to  you  the  worst  he  may  have  loved  you  the 
most.  Have  heart,  dear,  if  he  loves  you,  and  if  he  is  a 
good  and  true  man,  as  I  think  he  must  be,  for  John  Dacre 
trusts  him — " 

Maggie  raised  her  head,  looked  into  her  friend's  eyes 
and  read  her  secret.  Then  two  hands  clasped  together 
tightly,  and  they  kissed  and  wept  together. 

"  You  will  see  him  again,"  whispered  Mary,  as  Maggie 
was  leaving  the  room.  "  You  will  see  him  soon,  and 
everything  will  be  right." 

"No,  I  am  afraid  everything  will  not,"  said  Maggie  ;  "but 
if  I  have  lost  a  lover,  I  have  found  a  friend,  have  I  not  ?" 

And  they  did  not  meet  soon  again,  for  Geoffrey  was 
dispatched  by  Dacre  upon  most  important  duty — to  make 
arrangements  for  the  concealment  of  the  King  when  he 
should  arrive  in  the  country  to  return  to  his  own  again. 
He  went  into  the  enterprise  heart  and  soul  ;  that  is  to  say, 
with  that  part  of  his  heart  which  was  left  him.  Still  he 
feared  the  end  of  the  affair,  and  seemed  to  foresee  the  ruin 
to  which  the  troubled  waters  in  which  he  swam  were  sweep 
ing  the  King's  men. 


CHAPTER   X. 

KING    GEORGE    THE    FIFTH. 

ENGLAND  was  at  peace  ;  but  it  was  the  lurid  peace  before 
the  storm.  All  men  knew  that  the  days  were  hurrying  on 
toward  an  outbreak.  In  what  shape  it  should  come  no 
one  knew,  and  the  mystery  deepened  the  sensation  of 
expectancy  and  dread. 

It  had  been  publicly  spoken,  in  the  street,  the  press, 
and  even  in  Parliament,  that  the  Royalists  were  conspiring 
for  a  revolution  ;  and  this  certainty  had  sunk  deep  into  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  Their  silence  was  ominous  ;  the 
Royalists  looked  upon  it  as  favorable. 

But  there  were  Englishmen  who  knew  their  countrymen 
better,  and  who  foreboded  darkly,  though  without  fear,  of 
the  end  ;  and  among  these  was  Richard  Lincoln.  His  heart 
beat  with  the  popular  pulsation,  and  he  knew  that  there 
could  be  but  one  outcome  to  such  a  blind  and  reckless 
enterprise. 

Mary  Lincoln  alone  perceived  how  deep  was  the  trouble 
in  her  father's  soul  as  those  surcharged  hours  went  reeling 
past.  Deep  beyond  even  his  trouble  was  her  own,  for 
though  she  had  not  confessed  it  even  to  herself,  every  hope 
of  her  life  was  bound  up  in  the  destinies  of  the  Royalist 
conspiracy. 


KING    GEORGE  THE  FIFTH.  125 

On  the  afternoon  of  November  23d  there  was  an  early 
adjournment  of  Parliament,  and  her  father  came  home 
more  depressed  than  she  had  ever  seen  him.  Her  heart 
grew  cold  in  the  unusual  silence. 

Mary  waited  for  her  father  to  speak,  but  the  evening 
wore  on,  and  he  had  only  tried  to  lead  her  to  every-day 
subjects. 

"  Father/'  she  said  at  last,  "  there  is  depressing  news. 
What  has  happened  ?  Will  you  not  tell  me  ?' ' 

' '  Yes,  there  is  sad  news,  dear — gloomy  news  for  some. 
Those  madmen  will  attempt  a  revolution  by  civil  war  within 
the  next  twenty-four  hours. ' ' 

"  It  is  known?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  known — and  all  prepared  for." 

Mary's  face  changed  as  if  a  white  light  had  fallen  on  it  ; 
her  pitiful  excitement  was  evident  in  the  quivering  lips  and 
restless  hands.  She  would  have  cried  out  in  her  grief  and 
pity  had  she  been  alone  ;  but  her  father' s  strength,  so  close 
to  her,  made  her  strong  and  patient. 

"If  it  is  known,"  she  said,  with  forced  calmness, 
**  surely  it  will  be  stopped  without  bloodshed  ?  They  will 
arrest  those  gentlemen  before  they  go  too  far." 

Had  her  father  looked  into  the  eyes  that  spoke  more 
than  the  lips  he  might  have  read  beyond  the  words.  But 
his  mind  was  preoccupied. 

"  Bloodshed  might  be  avoided  by  their  arrest,"  he  said, 
sadly  ;  "  but  the  evil  would  only  be  postponed,  not  eradi 
cated.  The  conspirators  have  entered  the  rapids  :  they 
will  be  allowed  to  go  over  the  falls." 

"  Oh,  father  !"  whispered  Mary,  standing  beside  him 
and  holding  his  arm,  "  can  they  not  be  warned  ?" 

Richard  Lincoln,  startled  from  his  own  brooding  by  this 


126  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

astounding  question  from  his  daughter,  turned,  almost 
sternly,  to  speak  of  the  righteous  doom  of  traitors,  but  he 
did  not  say  the  words.  At  last  he  saw  what  a  less  observant 
eye  might  have  seen  long  before — the  suffering  and  fear  in 
her  eyes,  and  the  lines  which  concealed  anxiety  had  drawn 
on  his  daughter's  face.  Without  a  word  she  came  into  his 
arms  and  lay  upon  his  breast  and  sobbed,  and  no  word  was 
needed  that  was  not  spoken  in  the  father's  gentle  hand  on 
her  dear  head. 

The  hours  of  the  afternoon  went  slowly  by,  and  Richard 
Lincoln  was  glad  to  look  forward  to  an  unusual  evening  as 
the  best  means  of  diverting  Mary's  mind  from  the  subject 
which  filled  it.  At  seven  o'clock  a  great  public  meeting 
was  to  be  held  in  Cobden  Square.  The  platform  for  the 
speakers  happened  to  be  built  beneath  the  windows  of  Mr. 
Windsor's  city  house,  and  the  hospitable  American,  who 
was  to  depart  next  morning  for  his  own  country,  had 
invited  a  large  party  to  hear  the  speeches. 

Mary  was  glad  when  her  father  told  her  that  he  wished 
her  to  go  with  him,  for  Maggie  Windsor  was  the  only  one 
who  knew  her  secret.  As  she  drove  with  her  father  into 
the  square  in  the  evening,  the  place  was  bright  as  mid-day 
with  electric  lights.  The  crowd  was  already  gathering, 
and  the  people  were  strangely  silent. 

At  Mr.  Windsor's  there  was  a  large  party,  and  among 
the  guests  many  of  those  whom  Mary  had  met  at  Ripon 
House. 

It  was  almost  a  merry  gathering.  The  genial  American 
gentleman  and  his  charming  daughter  had  conquered  even 
the  austerity  of  the  Duchess  of  Bayswater  ;  and  the  Duke 
conversed  with  Mr.  Sydney,  swaying  his  gold  eyeglass  on 
its  string  with  gracious  abandon. 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  127 

Geoffrey  Ripon  and  Featherstone,  who  were  together, 
saw  Mr.  Lincoln  and  Mary  as  soon  as  they  entered. 

"  Geoffrey,"  said  Featherstone,  in  a  bantering  whisper, 
' '  behold  our  deadly  enemy.  Do  you  dare  to  speak  to 
him  ?" 

"  I  should  rather  not,"  answered  Geoffrey,  "  but  I  sup 
pose  we  must.  Heavens  !  How  pale  his  daughter  is  I" 

' '  Come,  Ripon.  Mr.  Lincoln  sees  us.  Here  goes  to 
shake  hands  with  the  man  whom  we  must  send  to  prison 
to-morrow — if  he  don't  send  us." 

Geoffrey  Ripon  felt  more  like  a  truant  schoolboy  ap 
proaching  a  severe  master  than  he  cared  to  confess  even  to 
himself,  as  he  moved  through  the  crowded  room  toward 
Richard  Lincoln.  But  when  they  met  there  was  nothing 
in  the  manner  of  either  to  indicate  any  unusual  feel 
ing. 

Mary  Lincoln  stood  near  a  window,  from  which  she 
looked  over  the  still  silent  but  now  dense  crowd  in  the 
square.  While  she  mentally  contrasted  the  two  scenes, 
that  within  with  that  without,  she  turned  her  head  with  the 
consciousness  of  being  observed,  and  met  the  quiet  eyes  of 
Sir  John  Dacre,  who  bowed  without  a  smile. 

Mary' s  strong  impulse  was  to  warn  him  of  his  danger,  at 
any  cost  to  herself,  and  she  had  taken  a  step  toward  him, 
when  she  was  intercepted  by  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey.  The 
Beauty  was  splendidly  dressed,  and  a  deep  excitement 
blazed  in  her  eyes. 

"  We  have  kept  places  for  you,  Miss  Windsor  and  I," 
said  she,  with  gay  kindliness.  "  Is  your  father  going  to 
speak  to-night  ?' ' 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  Mary,  her  old  aversion  for 
Mrs.  Carey  doubled  on  the  instant. 


128  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Then  we  shall  take  him  too.  Shall  we  go  and  find 
him  ?' ' 

Dacre  was  still  standing  by  the  window,  and  Mary 
Lincoln,  thinking  to  bring  him  to  her,  asked  him  if  the 
meeting  had  opened. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said,  from  his  corner;  "but  they  are 
crowding  the  platform  with  speakers." 

He  would  have  gone  to  Miss  Lincoln,  whose  earnest 
nature,  as  well  as  her  beautiful  face,  had  impressed  the 
single-minded  Royalist  perhaps  more  deeply  than  anything 
outside  the  King's  own  cause.  But  he  did  not  move,  be 
cause  of  his  dislike  for  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  founded  some 
what  on  an  instinctive  doubt  of  her  honesty. 

Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  glancing  from  Mary's  face  to 
Dacre' s,  quietly  resolved  to  keep  these  two  from  coming 
together  that  evening  if  she  could  prevent  it.  She  now 
urged  Mary  to  take  her  to  her  father  while  she  ' '  delivered 
Miss  Windsor's  message,"  a  word  adopted  on  the  mo 
ment  ;  and  Mary  had  to  go  with  her. 

Meanwhile  the  meeting  in  the  square  had  opened,  and 
the  voices  of  the  speakers  were  clearly  heard  in  the  draw- 
ing-room.  It  would  4have  been  a  scene  of  singularly  op 
pressive  character  even  to  a  heedless  observer  ;  but  its  un 
expressed  and  perhaps  unconscious  purport  was  deeply 
read  by  many  of  those  who  listened  from  the  balcony  and 
parlors  of  Mr.  Windsor's  house. 

Now  and  then  came  from  the  vast  field  of  faces  in  the 
square  a  rumbling  roar  that  swelled  and  died  -like  thun 
der  ;  and  then  came  the  single  voice  of  a  speaker,  stretched 
like  a  thin  wire,  joining  roar  to  roar.  All  through  the 
proceedings  there  was  never  a  laugh  from  the  multi 
tude 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  129 

"  Listen  !"  cried  Colonel  Featherstone  from  the  bal 
cony,  late  in  the  night ;  "  here  is  a  dramatic  fellow." 

The  man  then  addressing  the  crowd  was  one  who  had 
from  his  first  sentence  moved  his  audience  to  an  extraordi 
nary  degree — one  of  those  magnetic  voices  of  the  people 
which  flames  the  word  that  is  smouldering  in  every  heart. 
He  had  used  no  cloak  for  his  meaning,  like  the  other 
speakers  ;  but  boldly  attacked  the  Legitimists,  the  Mon 
archy,  the  titles  and  the  privileges  of  the  aristocracy. 

"  These  are  things  of  the  past,  and  not  of  the  future  !" 
sounded  from  the  deep  voice.  ' '  The  England  of  to-mor 
row  shall  have  no  aristocracy  but  her  wisest  and  her  best, 
shall  have  no  hereditary  rights  but  the  equal  right  of  every 
Englishman  !" 

Here  followed  the  thunderous  approval  of  the  multitude. 
*  "  Listen  I"  again  cried  Featherstone  from  his  advanced 
place  on  the  balcony.  "  Listen  !" 

"  Will  that  crime  be  attempted  ?"  cried  the  electric  voice 
of  the  orator.  "  Yes  !  I  believe  it  will  be  attempted." 
Then  there  was  a  low  murmur  among  the  mass,  and  a 
changing  of  feet  that  made  an  ominous,  scuffling  sound. 
"  What  then  ?  Then  it  will  be  every  man's  duty  to  strike 
down  the  enemies  of  the  people — to  destroy  them,  so  that 
we  and  our  children  shall  not  be  destroyed.  We  do  not 
appeal  to  the  sword,  but  the  sword  is  ours,  and  we  can  use 
it  terribly.  Their  blood  be  upon  their  own  heads  who 
dare  to  lay  their  hands  on  the  charter  of  the  people's 
rights!"  - 

In  the  wave  of  tremendous  applause  that  followed  these 
words  Mary  Lincoln  looked  at  Dacre,  who  had  turned  from 
the  window.  His  face,  always  severe,  was  now  set  in  fierce 
sternness.  Again  she  was  on  the  point  of  going  to  him  to 


130  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

speak  the  warning  that  was  burning  her  heart,  but  she  saw 
Dacre  suddenly  draw  himself  up  proudly,  as  if  he  had  been 
challenged.  She  followed  his  look  and  saw  her  father 
meet  Dacre' s  glance  as  sword  meets  sword. 

Every  line  in  Richard  Lincoln,  from  bent  brow  to 
clenched  hand,  seemed  filled  with  the  meaning  of  the 
orator's  ominous  words. 

The  two  men,  standing  almost  within  arm's  reach, 
looked  for  one  earnest  moment  into  each  other's  eyes  and 
hearts.  What  might  have  followed,  who  can  say,  had  not 
the  engagement  been  broken  from  without.  Mary  Lincoln 
passed  between  them,  and  laying  her  hand  on  her  father's 
arm  spoke  to  him,  asking  to  be  taken  home.  The  father's 
eyes  fell  to  the  troubled  face,  and  without  speaking  he 
went  with  his  daughter. 

Mary  and  her  father  were  hardly  missed  out  of  the  bright 
party  ;  but  one  face  became  smoother  when  they  had  de 
parted — the  Beauty's.  The  gloom  of  the  public  meeting 
brought  out  the  brilliant  elements  of  the  gathering  with 
rare  effect. 

From  group  to  group  flashed  Mrs.  Carey,  and  her  lips 
and  eyes  were  less  eloquent  than  the  clinging  touch  of  her 
arm,  which  was  almost  a  caress,  as  she  left  or  tried  to  leave 
her  impression  of  sympathy  and  admiration  on  one  after 
another  of  the  Royalists. 

Two  men  she  avoided,  instinctively  and  deliberately — 
Geoffrey  Ripon  and  Sir  John  Dacre.  Calculating,  cool, 
unprincipled  as  she  was,  she  feared  to  meet  the  eyes  of 
these  two  men,  whose  very  lives  she  had  undermined  and 
sold. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  and  most  of  the  ladies  had  gone, 
when  the  beautiful  woman,  attended  by  Featherstone,  drew 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  131 

her  soft  cloak  round  her  in  her  carriage  and  gave  her  hand, 
without  a  glove,  to  be  kissed  by  the  big  colonel,  bending 
in  the  doorway. 

"  Your  driver  knows  where  to  go  ?"  asked  Featherstone, 
closing  the  door. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  straight  home,"  answered  Mrs.  Carey,  smil 
ing  ;  "  good-night." 

She  lived  in  a  quiet  street  on  the  south  side  of  Regent's 
Park,  and  thither  she  went.  But  when  she  reached  Oxford 
Street  she  rang  the  carriage  bell  and  changed  her  course. 

' '  Drive  to  Clapham  Common, ' '  she  said,  curtly,  ' '  and 
as  fast  as  you  can. ' ' 

It  was  a  dark  night,  with  a  drizzling  rain,  and  as  the  cab 
rattled  along  the  empty  streets  she  lay  back  with  closed 
eyes,  evidently  thinking  of  no  unpleasant  things.  It  was 
over  five  miles  to  her  destination,  and  more  than  once  on 
her  way  her  thoughts  brought  a  smile  to  her  lips,  and  once 
even  an  exultant  laugh. 

On  the  Battersea  side  of  Clapham  Common,  in  one  of 
those  immense  old  brick  houses  built  in  the  time  of 
Queen  Victoria,  with  trees  and  lawns  and  lodges,  lived  a 
man  whose  name  was  known  in  every  stock  exchange  and 
money  market  in  the  world — Benjamin  Bugbee,  the 
banker. 

From  his  devotion  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  in  its  glo 
rious  and  its  gloomy  fortunes,  and  from  his  intimate  busi 
ness  relations  with  the  royal  family,  Bugbee  had  received 
the  romantic  title  of  "  The  King's  Banker,"  a  name  by 
which  he  was  recognized  even  in  other  countries. 

Bugbee  was  a  small,  bald-headed,  narrow-chinned  old 
man,  with  an  air  ot  preternatural  solemnity.  From  boy 
hood  up,  through  all  the  stages  of  life,  he  had  been  noted 


1 32  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

for  the  mysterious  sobriety  of  demeanor  which  now  marked 
him  as  an  angular,  slow-moving,  silent  and  unpleasant  old 
man. 

The  devotion  of  Bugbee  to  the  House  of  Hanover  was 
clear  enough  ;  but  the  springs  of  it  were  quite  unseen 
until  some  years  later,  when  they  were  laid  bare  by  a  rigid 
Parliamentary  inquiry.  The  astonishing  truth  was  that 
this  silent  and  insignificant  old  man,  since  the  year  of  the 
King's  banishment,  had  controlled  with  absolute  power 
one  of  the  greatest,  if  not  the  greatest,  private  fortunes  ever 
accumulated  in  any  country — that  of  the  royal  exile,  who 
was  known  to  his  devoted  followers  as  King  George  the 
Fifth. 

It  is  true  that  the  poverty  of  George,  in  his  residence  in 
the  United  States,  was  of  world-wide  notoriety.  The  shifts 
of  the  "  Court"  in  Boston  for  very  existence,  and  the  ex 
traordinary  measures  adopted  from  time  to  time  by  royalty 
to  make  both  ends  meet  were  a  scandal  in  the  ears  of 
kings  and  courtiers  everywhere. 

Nevertheless,  George  was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 
world — or  at  least  he  had  been  while  on  the  throne,  and 
he  would  be  again  should  he  ever  become  the  reigning 
monarch  of  England.  The  enormous  wealth  which  had 
begun  to  accumulate  in  Victoria's  frugal  reign  had  grown 
like  a  rolling  snowball  for  over  a  hundred  years.  For  the 
latter  half  century  the  royal  investors  had,  wisely  enough, 
avoided  all  national  bonds  except  those  of  the  two  old 
republics,  France  and  America  ;  but  in  the  great  cities  of 
the  earth,  and  notably  in  those  that  stood  the  least  chance  of 
bombardment  or  earthquake,  the  heir  of  the  Hanoverian 
line  was  one  of  the  largest  owners  of  real  property. 

George's  royal  grandfather  was  a  generous  and  almost 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  133 

extravagant  monarch  ;  but  his  enormous  private  wealth  was 
sufficient  even  for  so  luxurious  a  prince.  The  inheritance 
which  had  made  his  reign  stable  and  pleasant  he  secured 
for  his  son,  strictly  stipulating  that  it  was  to  be  enjoyed  by 
him  or  his  heir  while  reigning  as  monarch  of  England. 

Fatal  words  these  of  King  Edward's  will,  for  they 
secured  the  lifelong  poverty  of  the  grandson  whose  welfare 
he  had  at  heart.  During  the  few  years  of  George' s  reign 
the  royal  coffers  overflowed  with  gold.  Bugbee,  the  King's 
banker,  was  exhaustless  as  an  ocean  of  wealth. 

But  the  revolution  that  banished  the  King  and  his  noble 
men,  among  them  those  who  had  been  executors  with 
Bugbee  of  King  Edward' s  will,  left  the  solemn  little  banker 
absolute  master  of  the  royal  fortune — until  George  or  his 
heir  came  back  to  reign  as  King  of  England. 

For  twenty  years  Mr.  Bugbee  had  been  in  possession, 
or  rather  dominion.  The  poverty  of  the  royal  exile  in 
America  was  well  known  to  him  ;  but  to  the  demands  and 
petitions  of  George  and  his  "  Court"  he  turned  a  deaf  ear. 
His  conscience,  he  answered,  would  not  allow  him  to 
touch  one  penny  of  the  treasure,  which  could  only  be 
legally  drawn  by  a  reigning  King  of  England. 

In  the  early  years  of  the  King's  exile,  Bugbee  had  sent 
considerable  sums  to  his  royal  master,  which  he  alleged 
were  from  his  own  purse  ;  but  though  he  had  since  contin 
ued  these,  the  annual  amount  had  been  reduced  to  a  beg 
garly  allowance. 

Still  the  old  banker  was  the  most  trusted  agent  of  the 
Royalists  ;  and  weak  George  himself  regarded  with  a  vague 
respect,  almost  like  fear,  the  inflexible  integrity  which  con 
trolled  the  conscience  of  this  most  devoted  subject. 

Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  did  not  hear  the  city  clocks,  which 


134  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

1 '  clashed  and  hammered  ' '  the  midnight  hour,  as  her  cab 
rolled  up  the  tree-lined  avenue  of  the  pretentious  house  of 
"The  King's  Banker." 

The  driver  rang  the  bell  ;  and  as  the  door  almost  in 
stantly  opened,  Mrs.  Carey,  from  the  cab,  saw  several  men 
in  the  wide  hall,  some  sitting  and  others  standing,  like 
men  in  waiting. 

A  tall  flunkey  took  the  card,  closed  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Oswald  Carey  had  to  wait  in  the  cab  a  full  minute.  Then 
the  door  opened,  and  down  the  wide  steps  of  the  porch 
hobbled  Mr.  Bugbee,  with  gouty,  tender  feet,  the  top  of 
his  bald  head  shining  under  the  lamp. 

"  I  had  almost  given  you  up,"  was  his  greeting  ;  and 
as  he  helped  the  Beauty  from  the  cab  there  was  an  unques 
tionable  welcome  in  his  jratified  smile.  That  they  had 
met  before,  and  intimately,  was  evident  in  the  manner  of 
the  reception.  The  truth  was  that  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  and 
her  husband  were  old  connections  of  the  banker,  the  hus 
band  through  monetary  difficulties  and  the  wife  through 
complications  of  her  own,  in  which  old  Bugbee  had,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  assisted  her  more  than  once.  She 
knew  that  her  husband  was  in  the  old  man's  power,  but 
she  never  pretended  to  know  it.  On  his  side,  old  Bugbee 
was  a  foresighted  worker.  For  years  past  he  had  seen  that 
the  day  of  the  King's  return  would  come,  and  for  that  day 
he  meant  to  be  prepared  in  more  ways  than  one.  In  his 
cunning  old  brain  he  had  some  plan  laid  away  in  which 
he  had  provided  a  part  for  this  beautiful  and  utterly  un 
principled  woman. 

"  Am  I  too  late?"  asked  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey. 

' '  Only  too  late  for  supper, ' '  was  the  dry  answer  of  the 
old  banker,  but  the  tone  was  pleasant. 


KING   GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  135 

Through  the  hall,  where  those  in  waiting  stood  respect 
fully  as  she  passed,  the  banker  led  her  to  a  small,  luxuri 
ously  furnished  parlor  on  the  ground  floor.  As  she  threw 
aside  her  wraps  and  sank  into  a  soft  chair,  old  Bugbee 
opened  the  door  of  an  inner  room,  and  turned  to  her  : 

4 '  These  are  your  apartments, ' '  said  he. 

The  Beauty  looked  around,  but  said  nothing,  only  nod 
ding  her  head. 

"  You  are  very  tired  ?"  questioned  old  Bugbee. 

"  No  ;  not  very.  But  I  should  like  some  supper — and 
a  glass  of  wine. ' ' 

Mr.  Bugbee  touched  a  bell  and  gave  an  order. 

"  It  is  almost  midnight  ?"  she  asked. 

"  It  is  after  twelve — ten  minutes.  The  morning  of  the 
great  day  has  come. ' ' 

And  the  old  banker  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  young 
Beauty,  and  almost  smiled  in  response  to  her  low,  derisive 
laugh. 

"  He  came  to-day,  then  ?"  she  asked. 

'  *  Yesterday, ' '  corrected  Mr.  Bugbee  ;  "  at  noon,  he 
landed  from  my  steam -yacht,  in  the  very  heart  of  London. 
So  much  for  the  international  police. ' ' 

* '  Do  they  know  ?' '  said  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey.  ' '  Does 
Sir  John  Dacre  know  ?" 

' '  Sir  John  Dacre  helped  the  King  into  his  carriage  when 
he  landed.  He  knows  that  he  is  here,  and  expects  to 
meet  him  at  Aldershot  to-morrow." 

While  pretending  to  move  and  speak  as  if  quite  at  ease, 
Mr.  Bugbee  was  obviously  nervous  and  unsettled.  Mrs. 
Carey  observed  this,  but  without  appearing  to  do  so. 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?"  Mr.  Bugbee  asked  quietly, 
with  his  face  turned  from  Mrs.  Carey,  whose  side  view  he 


136  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

had  before  him  in  a  low  mirror.  He  saw  her  move  in  her 
chair,  and  slowly  look  him  all  over,  and  then  glance  down 
as  if  considering  her  answer. 

"  He  is  on  the  Continent — at  Nice,  I  think." 

She  had  dined  with  him  that  day,  but  did  not  know  that 
from  the  dinner  Oswald  Carey  had  come  straight  to  Mr. 
Bugbee' s  house  to  keep  an  appointment  with  the  wily 
"  King's  Banker,"  who  wished  to  know  how  the  Beauty 
had  spent  the  day,  and  whom  she  had  seen. 

"What  a  liar  she  is!"  muttered  old  Bugbee,  but  he 
smiled  af  himself  in  the  mirror,  as  if  approving  his  superior 
astuteness. 

"  Then  there  is  no  danger  of  his  making  a  noise  about 
your  absence  from  home  to-night.  Some  husbands  would 
be  alarmed,  and  might  apply  to  the  police. " 

Mrs.  Carey  looked  up  to  see  if  Bugbee  were  serious  ; 
and  then  she  laughed  heartily  and  rather  loudly,  while  he 
held  up  his  hands  with  an  alarmed  expression. 

"  Hush  !"  and  the  frown  of  the  old  man  was  something 
to  remember.  ' '  They  observe  as  much  formality  as  if  he 
were  in  Windsor  Palace." 

"  Well — he  will  be  there  to-day,  will  he  not  ?"  and  Mrs. 
Carey  looked  innocently  at  the  banker. 

He  came  closer  and  bent  his  broad,  bare  poll  to  her  as 
he  spoke  : 

"  No  !     He  will  never  see  Windsor  again." 

"  But  the  Royalists— will  they  not  raise  the  King's  flag 
to-day?"  Still  the  guileless  surprise  in  her  face,  which 
had  its  effect  on  old  Bugbee. 

"  Yes  ;  they  will  strike  to-day  at  Aldershot — and  they 
will  be  defeated." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?     Have  they  not  plenty  of  men  ?" 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  137 

' '  Men  ?  Men  are  only  in  the  way.  They  have  no 
money. ' ' 

"  And  the  King  ?     Will  he  be  taken  ?" 

"  He  will  not  be  there, "  and  Mr.  Bugbee  drew  close  to 
the  Beauty  again. 

"  Where  will  he  be  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Here — with  you  !  You  will  save  him  by  detaining 
him." 

She  sat  still,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  steady  stare.  She 
knew  quite  well  what  purpose  the  old  banker  had  in  mind, 
and  what  she  had  come  there  for.  But  she  meant  to  play 
her  own  game,  not  Bugbee 's. 

Her  own  game  was  to  get  the  old  King  under  her  own 
influence,  whether  he  went  to  reign  in  Windsor  or  to  rust 
in  America.  She  knew  his  character  well,  and  she  had 
little  doubt  of  her  power  if  she  could  only  get  the  reins. 
From  that  position  she  knew  enough,  too,  to  overcome  all 
scruples  of  conscience  in  the  King's  conscientious  banker. 

Bugbee  was  playing  against  two  possible  results — the 
success  of  the  King  or  his  death.  Either  was  ruin  for  him. 
Investigation  would  follow,  whether  George  were  a  king  or 
a  corpse.  So  long  as  he  remained  in  exile  the  Republicans 
would  never  attempt  to  confiscate  the  private  fortune  of  the 
banished  monarch  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  royal 
exile  would  not  venture  to  appeal  to  the  courts  against  his 
banker,  thereby  exposing  his  enormous  wealth  to  the 
cupidity  of  the  Republicans. 

'  *  You  have  gone  too  far, ' '  said  Mrs.  Carey,  steadily 
looking  at  the  banker  ;  "  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
My  reputation — ' ' 

' '  Shall  be  quite  safe — your  husband  being  at  Nice, ' ' 
and  old  Bugbee 's  was  the  guileless  face  now. 


138  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Humph  !" 

"  No  one  else  will  miss  you  for  two  days. " 

"  Ah  !  for  two  days.      And  then  ?" 

1 '  Then  you  go  home  ;  you  have  been  visiting  your 
American  friends,  or  any  other  friends  out  of  London. 

' '  Yes  ;  that  is  all  very  well, ' '  Mrs.  Carey  said  quietly. 
"  And  he — the  King  ?" 

"  He  will  return  to  America  at  once,  leaving  this  house 
in  two  days,  when  all  is  quiet,  to  go  on  board  the  steam- 
yacht  which  brought  him  over.  " 

Mrs.  Carey  said  nothing  more  for  nearly  a  minute. 

"  Where  is  that  yacht  now  ?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"  In  London  ;"  and  the  old  banker  dovetailed  his  ringers 
and  stood  with  a  smile  as  if  ready  for  all  questions. 

"  And  for  my  services — my  assistance  in  this  game  of 
yours — ' ' 

' '  Pardon  me, "  interrupted  Bugbee,  sententiously,  "it 
is  not  a  game  of  mine.  It  is  my  plan  to  save  the  King 
from  certain  destruction." 

"  Well,  whatever  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  impa 
tiently,  "  for  my  part  of  it  I  shall  have — what  ?" 

"  Ten  thousand  pounds,"  answered  old  Bugbee,  drop 
ping  the  words  slowly. 

"When?" 

"  When  the  King  is  safe — when  he  is  gone.  In  two 
days'  time." 

"  That  will  not  do  !"  and  there  was  a  ring  of  purpose  in 
the  Beauty's  voice  that  made  the  old  banker's  heart  beat 
quicker,  and  made  him  keenly  attentive.  She  repeated  : 
' '  That  will  not  do  !  He  may  not  go  to  America,  or  he 
may  not  remain  here.  He  may  be  captured,  or  he  may  be 
killed.  He  may  go  to  Aldershot  to-morrow,  despite  all 


KING   GEORGE  THE  FIFTH.  139 

your  plans.  You  know  he  intends  to  go.  But  I — I  shall 
have  risked  everything,  whether  you  win  or  lose,  and  at 
your  bidding.  Oh,  no,  my  dear  Mr.  Bugbee,  it  will  not 
do  at  all?" 

"  What  do  you  want,  then  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  I  want  the  money  now,  and  I  want  just  double  the 
sum  you  have  named. ' ' 

"  You  cannot  have — " 

"  Then  I  shall  go  home  ;"  and  Mrs.  Carey  rose  and 
began  to  arrange  her  cloak,  but  keeping  her  eyes  on  old 
Bugbee's  face.  Both  were  playing  for  the  same  stake, 
though  only  one  knew  it.  Mrs.  Carey  read  the  old 
banker's  purpose,  but  Bugbee  had  no  idea  that  she  had 
any  outlook  beyond  the  purchase  money — twenty  instead 
of  ten  thousand  pounds.  He  was  secretly  not  displeased 
at  the  demand,  which  seemed  an  indication  of  her  sincerity. 

'  *  You  shall  have  the  money, ' '  he  said,  having  pretended 
to  consider.  "  I  shall  write  a  check  now." 

*  *  I  want  the  money  ;  I  do  not  want  a  check. ' '  And 
she  remained  standing. 

Old  Bugbee  smiled  as  he  went  out.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  returned,  and  finding  her  still  prepared  to  go,  took  the 
cloak  from  her,  and  placed  in  her  hand  twenty  crisp  Bank 
of  England  notes. 

The  entrance  of  the  tall  flunkey  prevented  Mrs.  Carey 
from  speaking  her  pleasure,  but  she  looked  it  at  the 
banker. 

"  You  are  wanted,  sir,"  said  the  erect  flunkey. 

Old  Bugbee  hurriedly  left  the  room,  and  as  soon  as  the 
door  had  closed,  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  ran  to  a  large  mirror, 
where  she  smiled  at  herself,  and  concealed  her  treasure  in 
her  dress. 


140  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Then  she  went  into  the  rooms  which  the  old  banker  had 
said  were  hers  ;  and  some  minutes  later,  when  the  banker 
returned  and  she  came  toward  him,  he  smiled  approval  at 
the  few  supreme  touches  that  had  made  her  beawty  posi 
tively  radiant.  Her  dress  was  cut  low  and  square,  and  a 
soft  gauze  of  exquisite  texture  covered  her  bosom.  This 
had  been  concealed  throughout  the  evening  by  a  skilful 
arrangement  of  rich  lace.  There  was  a  single  red  rose  in 
her  hair. 

"  You  are  to  present  a  petition,"  old  Bugbee  said,  as  if 
giving  instructions.  "  Have  you  thought  of  it  ?" 

"  Trust  me,"  she  said,  smilingly.      "  I  am  ready." 

Leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  King's  banker,  Mrs.  Carey 
ascended  the  wide  stairs  and  on  the  first  floor  entered  a 
small  parlor.  Through  an  open  door  she  saw,  in  a  great 
room  beyond,  three  men,  two  of  whom  were  bowing 
obsequiously,  as  if  taking  their  leave. 

The  third  person  was  the  King. 

Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  smiled  inwardly  as  she  took  in  the 
points  of  this  extraordinary  figure,  which  was  so  like,  yet 
so  absurdly  unlike,  the  prints  with  which  all  the  world  was 
familiar. 

King  George  the  Fifth  was  dressed  in  a  splendid  court 
suit,  his  breast  blazing  with  orders,  and  his  coat  and  waist 
coat  literally  covered  with  gold  embroidery.  He  was  a 
short,  heavy  man,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  a  large, 
oval  head,  made  still  more  large  and  oval  by  a  great  double 
chin,  and  by  the  soft  fatness  of  his  cheeks.  His  hair  had 
been  red,  but  was  almost  gray,  and  he  was  bald  on  top. 
He  was  closely  shaven,  showing  a  heavy,  sensual  mouth, 
out  of  all  proportion  to  a  small  and  rather  fine  nose.  But 
his  eyes  gave  the  expression,  or  want  of  expression,  to  his 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  141 

face  ;  they  were  set  very  far  apart,  and  they  were  small, 
round  and  prominent,  with  white  eyelashes. 

Had  his  legs  been  proportionate  to  his  body  he  would 
have  been  a  large  man  ;  but  they  were  very  short.  As  he 
stood,  in  laced  coat,  breeches  and  buckled  shoes,  he  was 
laughably  like  a  figure  on  a  playing-card — the  figure  in 
profile. 

When  the  two  men  had  backed  out,  the  banker  led  Mrs. 
Carey  into  the  presence.  Then  both  intruders  bowed 
reverentially.  The  King  had  sat  down  and  he  remained 
seated,  paying  not  the  least  heed  to  the  courtesies,  but 
closely  regarding  the  lady,  whose  extraordinary  attractions 
had  struck  him  at  first  sight. 

Mrs.  Carey  advanced  timidly  and  sank  kneeling  at  his 
feet ;  and  still  the  royal  eye  graciously  scanned  the  beauti 
ful  petitioner.  Once  she  raised  her  face  to  speak,  but 
meeting  the  gaze  of  the  King  her  suffused  eyes  sank  again. 

"  She  is  quite  overcome,  Bugbee, "  said  the  King  in  a 
husky  voice,  as  odd  as  his  appearance. 

"  The  sight  of  her  King  has  overpowered  her,  your 
Majesty,"  answered  old  Bugbee,  in  a  low  tone  of  solemn 
awe. 

"Come  now,"  said  George,  encouragingly,  and  he 
touched  the  soft  chin  in  raising  her  face  :  "  Speak  ! 
What  may  we  do  for  so  fair  a  subject  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  King  !"  exclaimed  the  Beauty,  clasping  her 
hands,  "  I  come  with  words  only  for  your  own  ear. " 

An  unquestionable  frown  shadowed  Bugbee's  face  at  the 
audacity  of  the  woman.  George's  little  eyes  rested  on  the 
face  of  the  speaker,  as  if  he  had  not  comprehended.  The 
old  banker  remained  standing  in  his  place. 

"  I  am  bound,  your  Majesty,  only  to  speak  my  message 


142  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

to  you  alone."  She  was  so  evidently  excited  and  her 
pleading  was  so  eloquent  that  the  King  was  at  once  deeply 
interested. 

George  had  raised  her  by  taking  her  hand,  and  now  he 
looked  vaguely  from  her  to  old  Bugbee. 

"  It  is  a  message.  You  said  a  petition, "  said  the  King, 
dubiously,  to  his  banker. 

"  Your  Majesty,  I  thought — " 

' '  Leave  us,  Bugbee, ' '  interrupted  George,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  not  looking  at  the  banker.  "  Let  us  hear 
this  fair  messenger. ' ' 

Old  Bugbee  bowed  and  backed  till  he  reached  the  door, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  be  pleased  or  indignant.  He 
ought  to  have  made  the  woman  explain  her  plan  to  him 
before  she  entered  the  King's  presence.  Now  he  must 
wait,  while  she  was  free  to  act  as  she  chose. 

When  the  door  closed  on  the  banker  Mrs.  Carey's  whole 
manner  changed.  She  drew  near  the  King  and  excitedly 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  your  Majesty  !  I  have  come  to  save  you  !  You 
are  betrayed  !" 

"  Betrayed  !"  repeated  George,  trying  to  grasp  the  idea, 
while  his  little  eyes  were  quite  expressionless. 

' '  Betrayed  ! ' '  sobbed  Mrs.  Carey,  '  *  and  all  is  lost 
except  your  Majesty's  life  and  liberty. " 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  Why  does  not  he  know  ?" 
and  the  alarmed  George  nodded  at  the  door. 

"  I  do  not  know,  your  Majesty.  I  only  know  that  I 
know  it,  and  that  I  have  come  here  to  save  you  at  the  risk 
of  my  life  ;  but  what  is  my  life  to  the  precious  life  of  my 
King?" 

"  Betrayed  !"  repeated  George,  as  if  the  meaning  of  the 


KING    GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  143 

word  were  slowly  coming  to  him  out  of  a  fog.  "  But  to 
morrow — to-day — my  men  will  proclaim  the  restoration. " 

"  Oh,  my  King  !  to  morrow — " 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  be  King  !"  re-echoed  George, 
while  his  glance  wandered  round  the  room,  as  if  seeking  to 
escape  from  the  bore  of  excitement.  "  Betrayed  !  No, 
no  ;  my  men—" 

"  Your  men,  Sire,  to-night  will  be  dead  or  in  prison," 
said  Mrs.  Carey,  with  increased  firmness,  reading  the 
puerile  nature  and  seeing  the  value  of  emphasis. 

"  I  am  to  join  my  gentlemen  at  Aldershot  at  noon," 
muttered  the  King. 

* '  No,  no  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Carey,  and  her  beautiful  hands 
clasped  his  arm  beseechingly.  "  Your  Majesty  will  be  lost 
if  you  attempt  to  go — all  who  go  there  will  be  lost. " 

There  was  a  depth  in  her  voice  at  these  words  that 
carried  conviction. 

"  Your  Majesty  must  escape  from  England  to-night !" 

"Impossible!"  cried  George,  with  some  dignity,  but 
more  irritation. 

"  Oh,  listen  to  me,  Sire  !"  she  sobbed,  "  and  do  not 
despise  my  words  because  I  am  only  a  weak  woman. ' ' 

Here  the  small  eyes  of  the  King  rested  on  her  again,  and 
the  royal  hand  soothed  her  back  to  calmness  by  stroking 
her  beautiful  hair. 

' '  Everything  is  known, ' '  she  continued,  ' '  except  that 
your  Majesty  has  landed.  If  that  were  known  all  were 
lost.  President  Bagshaw  has  surrounded  Aldershot  with 
soldiers.  There  are  twenty  to  one  against  the  Royal 
ists.  ' ' 

"  But  the  King's  name  will  change  them  ;"  and  as  he 
spoke  George  seemed  really  to  believe  his  words.  "  When 


144  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

Colonel  Arundel  proclaims  me  King,  as  Dacre  says  he 
will—" 

"  Oh,  Sire  !  Sire  !"  sobbed  Mrs.  Carey,  now  really 
touched  by  the  vivid  picture  that  appeared  of  her  own 
treachery  ;  * '  even  that  is  known  to  the  President — and  all 
the  soldiers  who  are  to  kill  Colonel  Arundel  have  already 
received  his  instructions  !" 

This  precise  and  terrible  statement  staggered  George, 
and  a  look  of  simple  alarm  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Then  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  he  cried,  in  a  bewildered 
way. 

"Your  Majesty  must  escape  this  night — this  hour. 
You  are  not  safe  one  moment  in  London  ;  you  know  not 
who  might  betray  you.  The  steam -yacht  which  brought 
you  to  England  lies  ready  this  moment  to  receive 
you." 

George  tried  to  think  ;  but  he  could  not.  He  walked 
about  nervously. 

"  Let  us  have  Bugbee  here  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
burst  of  relief. 

"  No  !  I  implore  your  Majesty  !  Do  not  trust  any  one 
— even  him.  He  may  be  true  as  steel — I  do  not  doubt  it. 
If  he  be  true  he  will  not  object  to  your  escape.  But  not 
knowing  all,  he  may  advise  delay — and  delay  is  destruc 
tion.  ' ' 

"  What  shall  I  do,  then  ?  Tell  me,  tell  me,  child. 
What  shall  I  do  ?" 

There  was  a  pitiful  confession  of  weakness  in  the  words 
and  manner  of  George  as  he  spoke.  He  had  come  to  a 
woman,  unmanned,  and  set  her  mind  above  his — had 
placed  himself  in  her  hands.  And  never  were  woman's 
hands  readier  for  such  a  gift.  He  felt  their  caressing  care 


KING   GEORGE   THE  FIFTH.  145 

before  she  spoke  ;  already  the  renunciation  was  beginning 
to  bear  fruit  for  the  weak  one. 

"  You  will  call  Mr.  Bugbee  here,  Sire,  in  a  few  mo 
ments,  and  tell  him  without  a  word  of  explanation  that 
you  are  going  on  board  the  yacht  to-night. ' ' 

"  But  it  is  so  strange — " 

"  Kings  have  a  right  to  strange  fancies,"  she  said  smil 
ing,  but  speaking  with  a  firm  tone.  "  You  will  simply  tell 
him,  Sire,  that  you  wish  to  go  directly  to  the  yacht — now. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  will  do  that,"  said  George;  and  with  royal 
brusqueness  he  said,  "  call  him  here  !" 

"  I  will  send  him,  Sire — for  I  am  going  now,"  and  she 
spoke  slowly  and  sadly. 

"  You  are  going?  No  !  You  are  not  going  until  I 
am  quite  safe — until  I  have  gone  on  board  the  steamer." 
George's  tone  was  deeply  earnest,  and  there  was  actually  a 
kind  of  wail  in  his  petition. 

"  I  came  to  save  my  King;  and  now  he  is  safe,  my 
duty  is  done." 

Still  he  urged  his  deliverer  not  to  leave  him  till  he  had 
left  the  land  ;  and  after  much  entreaty  she  consented  to 
ride  with  the  King  to  the  vessel,  and  thence  to  be  driven  to 
her  home.  It  was  half  an  hour  later  when  she  descended 
to  her  parlor,  and  found  Mr.  Bugbee  impatiently  awaiting 
her,  as  she  had  expected.  With  lightning  words  she  ex 
plained  the  situation,  and  bade  Bugbee  order  his  private 
carriage. 

' '  But  this  false  alarm  will  be  known  to-morrow, ' '  cried 
Bugbee,  wrung  with  wrath  and  perplexity.  "  He  will 
learn  that  it  is  all  a  lie,  and  then — ' ' 

"  There  is  no  false  alarm,  man  !"  hissed  the  Beauty  in 
the  banker's  ear.  "  It  is  all  true — every  word  !" 


146  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

11  How  did  you  learn  it  ?     Who  is  your  informant  ?" 

"  President  Bagshaw.     Is  that  sufficient  ?" 

The  old  banker  gazed  on  Mrs.  Carey  with  a  dazed  look, 
which  gradually  faded  into  one  of  intelligent  admiration. 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  But  why 
not  have  told  me?" 

"  Because  /  wanted  to  save  the  King  this  time,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Carey.  "You  don't  object,  do  you?  I 
assure  you  it  does  not  interfere  with  any  plan  of  yours." 

Mr.  Bugbee  could  not  see  that  it  did,  nor,  even  if  it 
did,  could  he  see  how  he  could  help  it  now.  He  had 
not  gauged  this  woman  rightly.  She  had  outwitted  him, 
and  he  saw  it. 

"  You  will  order  the  carriage  at  once,  won't  you  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Carey,  taking  up  her  cloak. 

'  *  Yes,  at  once, ' '  and  Bugbee  rang  the  bell.  '  *  But  he 
returns  at  once  to  America  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice, 

"  That  is  his  purpose — and  mine,"  said  the  Beauty. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  Bugbee  departed  in  a  fly  in  hot 
haste  to  prepare  the  yacht  for  the  royal  guest  ;  and  some 
minutes  later  George  the  Fifth  handed  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey 
into  the  banker's  closed  carriage,  and  the  pair  were  driven 
off  to  London. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    RAISING   OF   THE   FLAG. 

MR.  WINDSOR'S  guests  had  all  departed,  the  lights  were 
out  in  the  rooms  so  lately  filled  with  the  pleasant  discord 
of  animated  voices,  and  the  kindly  old  American  host  had 
gone  to  his  rest  with  the  satisfaction  of  believing  that  his 
last  night  in  England  would  be  enjoyably  remembered  by 
his  new  friends  when  he  and  his  daughter  were  far  on  their 
voyage  home. 

But  Mr.  Windsor  knew,  a  few  weeks  later,  that  beneath 
the  smooth  surface  of  his  farewell  party,  as  he  had  seen  it, 
ran  a  secret  current  of  fatal  force  and  purpose.  He  had 
entertained  unaware  on  that  night  nearly  all  the  Royalist 
leaders,  who  had  taken  advantage  of  his  invitation  to  meet 
in  a  place  where  suspicion  of  their  movements  could  not 
follow. 

The  gentlemen  left  Mr.  Windsor's  house  not  in  groups 
or  even  pairs,  but  singly.  It  was  remarkable  that  none  of 
them  had  a  carriage,  and  that  after  leaving  the  house  every 
one  turned  and  walked  in  the  same  direction. 

About  an  hour  after  the  last  guest  had  gone,  in  a  large 
house  belonging  to  a  banished  earl,  where  Featherstone 
had  resided  for  the  past  two  weeks,  there  was  a  full  meet- 


148  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

ing  of  the  Royalist  chiefs,  including  those  who  had  been  at 
Mr.  Windsor's,  and  many  more.  They  had  come  singly 
from  many  quarters,  but  all  on  foot,  and  they  had  entered 
by  a  door  on  a  quiet  side  street.  There  were  perhaps  forty 
men  in  all. 

Here  were  old  and  dignified  noblemen,  more  than  one 
of  whom  wore  threadbare  coats  and  other  signs  of  actual 
poverty  ;  and  here  were  young  spirits  aflame  with  the  hope 
of  action.  Here  a  lot  of  antiquated  baronet-squires  flock 
together,  and  yonder  stands  a  knot  of  grizzled  colonels  with 
the  professional  air  of  men  awaiting  orders.  Here  is  the 
old  Duke  of  Bayswater,  listening  through  his  eyeglasses, 
while  Geoffrey  Ripon  and  Featherstone  have  a  quiet  jest 
with  Mr.  Sydney. 

Shortly  after  midnight — at  about  the  same  moment  that 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  received  the  bank-notes  from  Mr. 
Bugbee — the  hum  of  conversation  ceased  in  this  meeting 
of  the  Royalists,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  toward  a  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  long  drawing-room,  where  stood  John 
Dacre,  who  had  just  entered  the  room,  his  hands  filled 
with  papers. 

Dacre  was  in  the  uniform  of  a  staff  officer,  and  on  his 
breast  he  wore  the  battle-cross  he  had  won  in  his  first  cam 
paign,  and  also  some  gaudier  honors  awarded  him  for 
loyalty  and  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  King. 

The  strong  light  of  the  chandelier  showed  the  tense  lines 
of  his  finely-cut  face,  which  was  white  with  excitement,  and 
his  eyes  burned  beneath  his  brows  with  a  flame  too  strong 
to  be  subdued  by  any  outer  light. 

Before  he  had  uttered  a  word  he  had  in  some  way  im 
parted  to  many  of  those  around  him  something  of  his  own 
exaltation  and  intensity  of  spirit.  He  laid  on  the  table  the 


THE  RAISING    OF  THE  FLAG.  149 

papers  he  had  carried,  and  looked  round  the  room  with  his 
face  proudly  raised. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  he  said,  holding  his  voice  from  an  ex 
ulting  cry,  ' '  our  campaign  has  begun.  We  are  no  longer 
without  a  leader.  Our  monarch  has  come  to  claim  his 
throne,  and,  if  necessary,  to  win  it  by  the  sword.  This 
night  King  George  sleeps  in  London.  To-morrow  he  will 
sit  upon  the  throne  of  England.  GOD  SAVE  THE  KING  !" 

But,  though  death  might  be  the  consequence,  a  brave 
cheer  burst  from  the  hearts  of  some  of  those  who  heard — 
some,  but  only  a  few,  and  among  these  were  Geoffrey, 
Featherstone,  and  the  grizzled  colonels. 

To  many  others  that  cheer  seemed  as  deadly  an  outburst 
as  the  roar  of  artillery.  For  a  moment  all  stood  as  before  ; 
then  they  broke  and  mingled,  talking  excitedly,  and  a 
goodly  number  edged  toward  the  door,  and  soon  made 
their  way  out  of  the  house. 

But  at  least  twenty  men  remained,  while  Dacre  issued 
orders,  handed  instructions  already  written,  or  verbally  re 
peated  important  words  to  the  officers  who  should  the  next 
day  head  the  revolution. 

"Colonel  Arundel,"  said  Dacre,  addressing  a  white- 
haired  but  erect  man  of  sixty  years,  "  to  you  belongs  the 
first  word  of  the  restoration." 

The  old  colonel  walked  to  the  table  opposite  Dacre  and 
bowed,  as  if  awaiting  instructions. 

"At  the  hour  of  noon  to-morrow,"  continued  Dacre, 
speaking  to  Colonel  Arundel,  "  the  King's  banner  will  be 
raised  at  Aldershot,  and  at  that  hour  you  will  proclaim  to 
the  brigade  under  your  command  the  restoration  of  the 
Monarchy  and  his  Majesty's  presence  in  the  camp."  The 
veteran  withdrew  with  a  proud  smile. 


ISO  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"Colonel  Featherstone,  Sir  James  Singleton,  Lord 
Arthur  Towneley,  Mr.  Blaney  Balfour  ;"  as  Dacre  read 
from  a  list,  the  gentlemen  named  drew '  near  the  table. 
; '  You  are  of  the  royal  escort ;  you  will  await  the  arrival  of 
the  King  at  Aldershot  and  accompany  him  to  the  camp." 

When  Dacre  had  issued  all  the  prepared  orders  for  the 
outbreak,  the  meeting  broke  up. 

As  Geoffrey  walked  with  Dacre  to  their  quarters,  the 
streets  of  London  were  deserted  and  quiet,  as  if  no  danger 
lay  hid  in  the  clouds  of  the  morrow.  Dacre  was  filled, 
body  and  soul,  with  the  assurance  of  a  glorious  success  ; 
but  cool-headed  Geoffrey  felt  none  of  his  enthusiasm, 
though  his  step  was  light  and  his  voice  as  full  of  cheer  as 
his  friend's  mood  required.  But  when  they  met  a  burly, 
quiet  policeman  on  his  beat,  who  placidly  wished  them, 
"  Good-morning,  gentlemen,"  Geoffrey  could  not  restrain 
a  burst  of  hearty  laughter — which,  however,  he  did  not  ex 
plain  to  Dacre. 

Geoffrey  slept  soundly  for  a  few  hours,  and  was  up  early 
to  keep  his  appointment  with  Dacre.  He  could  scarcely 
credit  his  senses  to  find  himself  on  such  an  errand,  as  he 
strode  through  the  already  busy  streets,  meeting  the  quiet 
folk  at  their  early  occupations,  while  he  was  bent  on  civil 
war  in  two  hours'  time,  with  his  overcoat  pockets  heavy 
with  loaded  pistols  ! 

Dacre  and  he  breakfasted  in  a  private  room  at  the  old 
Army  and  Navy  Club  almost  in  silence.  They  had  met  at 
the  door,  coming  from  opposite  directions,  and  greeted 
each  other  with  a  firm  grip  of  the  hand.  Under  a  large 
overcoat  Dacre  wore  his  old  staff  uniform,  and  he  smiled 
proudly  as  Geoffrey  took  off  his  outer  coat  and  showed  his 
ancestors'  silver-hilted  sword  buckled  high  round  his  body, 


THE  RAISING    OF  THE  FLAG.  151 

so  that  it  should  not  strike  the  ground  or  be  seen  below 
the  coat. 

As  they  drove  to  the  railway  station  it  was  a  dull,  driz 
zling  morning.  At  the  station  they  saw  many  of  those 
who  had  attended  the  meeting  the  previous  night ;  but,  by 
arrangement,  the  conspirators  did  not  recognize  each  other, 
even  by  a  sign.  When  they  arrived  at  the  Aldershot  Sta 
tion  there  was  no  indication  of  anything  unusual.  A  few 
orderlies  from  the  camp  came  and  went,  but  this  was  an 
every-day  sight. 

The  Royalists  dispersed  at  once,  some  walking,  some  in 
the  common  camp  omnibuses,  and  some  in  cabs.  The 
point  of  assembly  was  in  the  officers'  lines  of  the  infantry 
camp,  where  Colonel  Arundel,  who  was  acting  brigadier, 
had  provided  a  large  mess  tent  for  their  reception — and  on 
this  morning,  by  his  arrangement  and  for  their  guidance, 
no  other  tent  but  this  in  the  camp  was  marked  by  a  flag. 

On  arriving  at  the  tent,  Dacre  and  Geoffrey  found  only 
two  of  their  fellow-conspirators,  both  youths,  awaiting 
them.  But  it  was  very  early,  not  9. 30,  and  the  hour  of 
meeting  was  1 1.  The  next  man  to  arrive  was  Mr.  Sydney, 
who,  fearing  a  shot  from  his  old  enemy,  the  gout,  more 
than  a  bullet  from  a  Republican  rifle,  stepped  gingerly 
from  the  omnibus  that  dropped  him  near  the  lines.  As 
Geoffrey  shook  his  hand,  a  pang  went  through  his  con 
science  for  ever  having  made  a  jest  of  so  simple  and  brave 
a  heart. 

By  ones  and  twos,  as  the  hours  passed,  the  Royalists 
came  to  the  rendezvous.  Not  once  had  they  met  with 
question  or  opposition.  The  sentries,  as  they  passed, 
stood  to  "  attention,"  evidently  regarding  them  as  officers 
belonging  to  the  camp. 


152  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

The  mess  tent  was  well  removed  from  the  regular  roads 
of  the  camp,  and  only  a  few  soldiers  passed  near  it  all  the 
morning. 

Once,  while  Geoffrey  stood  at  the  open  door,  a  mounted 
artillery  officer  rode  past.  He  was  a  young  man,  with  a 
strongly-marked,  stem  face,  and  as  he  passed  the  tent  it 
seemed  to  Geoffrey  that  he  cast  a  sudden,  keen  glance 
within.  At  first,  Geoffrey  was  so  convinced  of  this  that  he 
turned  to  speak  to  Dacre  ;  but  glancing  after  the  officer, 
he  saw  him  stop  and  speak  to  a  man  who  was  coming 
toward  the  tent,  and  whom  Geoffrey  recognized  as  one  of 
the  military  men  of  the  previous  night's  meeting.  After  a 
few  words  they  saluted  like  friends  and  separated. 

"  You  know  that  officer,  sir?"  asked  Geoffrey,  as  the 
old  soldier  came  to  the  tent  door.  "  I  thought  he  looked 
this  way  in  an  odd  manner  as  he  passed. " 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  answered  the  other  ;  ' '  that  is  young  De- 
vereux,  the  clever  fellow  who  has  invented  the  tremendous 
gun,  you  know,  and  revolutionized  the  old  tactics.  An 
able  fellow,  sir — and  a  colonel  at  thirty-six.  I  knew  his 
father  forty  years  ago  at  Woolwich,  when  we  were  cadets. ' ' 

11  You  think  I  was  mistaken,  then,  in  fancying  that  he 
looked  this  way?"  asked  Geoffrey. 

"  I  should  say  so — bless  my  soul  !  I  should  hope  so, 
too.  That's  the  cleverest  fellow  in  the  whole  service  ;  and 
we  don't  want  to  meet  him  at  the  very  start." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  be  with  us  ?"  suggested  Geoffrey. 

"  No  ;  it  isn't  likely.  Devereux  is  with  nothing  but 
science  and  discipline.  But  if  he  were  with  us  he  would 
be  better  than  twenty  regiments." 

' '  And  against  us  ?' ' 

"Ah!  there  are  circumstances  that  alter  cases.     With 


THE  RAISING    OF  THE  FLAG.  153 

us  he  would  be  free  to  act  on  his  own  devising,  for  we 
should  make  him  commander  of  the  forces.  Against  us 
he  is  only  a  subordinate,  controlled  by  some  stupid  major- 
general.  ' ' 

Eleven  o'clock  came,  and  there  were  twenty-seven  men 
in  the  tent.  Besides  these  were  the  several  officers  of  the 
regiment  in  camp,  who  were  in  their  quarters  ready  for  the 
signal. 

At  the  door  of  the  mess  tent  rose  a  tall  flag-pole,  with 
halyards  attached,  which  entered  the  tent.  To  these,  by 
the  hands  of  Dacre,  was  fastened  the  Royal  Standard  of 
England,  to  be  given  to  the  breeze  at  the  sound  of  the 
noonday  gun. 

At  half-past  eleven  the  bugles  of  the  infantry  regiments 
were  heard  sounding  for  a  general  parade  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  scarlet  lines  were  seen  on  the  parade  ground, 
forming,  wheeling,  and  marching  into  brigade  formation. 

The  commanding  officer  and  the  colonels  of  six  out  of 
seven  regiments  would  call  on  the  troops  to  cheer  for  King 
George  when  they  saw  the  royal  banner  at  the  mast.  In 
side  the  mess  tent  there  was  a  scene  of  quiet  preparation, 
which  had  its  ludicrous  as  well  as  pathetic  features.  Many 
of  the  Royalists  had  come  in  military  uniforms  of  various 
kinds  and  countries.  As*  the  hour  drew  near  they  laid 
aside  their  overcoats,  and  composed  an  odd  group  for  a 
military  critic.  The  Duke  of  Bayswater  wore  an  old  red 
tunic  of  the  yeomanry  cavalry,  which  he  had  commanded 
in  his  county  half  a  century  before  ;  Mr.  Sydney  a  lancer's 
fatigue  jacket,  which  he  had  worn  as  a  lieutenant  in  King 
Edward's  time  ;  there  was  one  in  the  tunic  of  a  captain  of 
French  artillery,  and  several  others  wore  continental  uni 
forms.  Every  one  was  armed  in  some  way  or  other. 


154  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

As  the  infantry  brigade  wheeled  into  line  on  the  parade- 
ground  a  distant  trumpet  sounded  far  in  the  rear. 

"  Dacre,  what  is  that  trumpet?"  asked  Geoffrey,  in  a 
low  tone. 

Dacre  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  listened.  He  did  not 
reply,  but  shook  his  head  and  smiled  at  Geoffrey. 

"That  is  an  artillery  trumpet,"  said  the  old  officer  to 
whom  Geoffrey  had  spoken  before,  and  who  now  came 
quietly  to  Dacre.  ' '  It  came  from  the  direction  of  Colonel 
Devereux's  battery — though  I  remember  distinctly  he  told 
me  that  this  was  not  a  field  day." 

It  was  clear  to  Geoffrey's  eye  that  Dacre  was  suffering 
under  some  heavy  fear  or  despondency  that  quelled  his  ex 
citement.  There  was  a  look  in  his  face  of  tense  expec 
tancy  that  was  pitiful  to  his  friend. 

"  The  King  was  to  have  been  here  at  eleven,"  said 
Geoffrey  to  him  at  last.  "It  is  now  twenty  minutes  to 
twelve.  Can  anything  have  happened,  Dacre  ?' ' 

Dacre  looked  at  him  reproachfully  ;  but  only  shook  his 
head,  without  a  smile.  Geoffrey  walked  to  the  door,  and 
turned  suddenly,  almost  with  a  shout. 

"  Here's  Featherstone  !"  he  cried.  "  He  was  in  the 
King's  escort ;  he  has  news." 

The  Royalists  crowded  around  Featherstone  as  he 
entered,  but  their  eager  eyes  found  no  reassurance  in  his 
face,  which  was  pale,  and,  still  more  unlike  Featherstone, 
full  of  anger  and  gloom. 

He  did  not  reply  to  the  hail  of  questions  which  met 
him,  but  looked  around  for  Dacre,  and  went  to  him. 

"  The  King?"  asked  Dacre,  sternly. 

*'  The  King  has  disappeared,"  answered  Featherstone, 
"  and  no  one  knows  where  he  has  gone." 


THE  RAISING    OF  THE  FLAG.  155 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  tent ;  not  a  man  moved. 
Dacre  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  ten  minutes  to 
twelve. 

"  He  may  be  on  the  way  here  by  another  route,"  sug 
gested  the  old  Duke. 

"  What  have  you  done  to  obtain  information  ?"  asked 
Dacre. 

"  At  eleven  o'clock  the  escort  waiting  at  the  station  in 
London  telephoned  us  that  the  train  had  gone  and  the 
King  had  not  arrived.  We  waited  ten  minutes  and  then  I 
telephoned  direct  to  the  house  of  the  King's  banker  and 
received  in  answer  these  words  :  '  The  King  left  here  at 
two  o'clock  this  morning  to  go  on  board  his  steam-yacht. 
He  has  sailed  for  America.'  In  reply  to  my  questions,  no 
reason  was  given  for  his  going,  as  no  one  there  knew,  and 
Bugbee  had  not  returned  since  the  King's  departure." 

Featherstone  folded  his  arms  and  looked  at  Dacre,  on 
whom  again  all  eyes  turned.  He  held  in  one  hand  the 
royal  banner,  fast  to  the  halyards,  and  in  the  other  hand 
his  watch. 

At  this  moment  the  artillery  trumpet  heard  before 
sounded  much  nearer,  and  it  was  answered,  apparently,  by 
other  trumpets  at  different  points  of  the  camp. 

'*  Gentlemen,"  said  Dacre,  drawing  up  his  tall  figure 
with  superb  pride,  and  looking  calmly  round  the  tent,  "  in 
two  minutes  it  will  be  noon — the  hour  of  our  movement. 
Yonder  rides  the  brave  man  who  will  proclaim  the  Mon 
archy,  and  it  is  too  late  now  to  warn  him  or  his  fellow- 
officers  and  patriots.  We  may  draw  back  ;  but  they  will 
go  on.  The  world  will  be  the  witness.  If  the  King  has 
been  false  to  us — and  we  do  not  know  that  he  has — we 
shall  be  true  to  our  cause  and  to  ourselves." 


1 56  THE  KINGS  MEN. 

There  was  a  pause.  Dacre's  eyes  were  on  the  dial  in 
his  hand. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  he  cried,  as  he  placed  the  watch  in  his 
pocket,  "it  is  twelve  o'clock  !  Shall  I  raise  the  King's 
flag?" 

"  Ay  !     Up  with  it  I"  rang  out  the  brave  shout. 

At  that  instant  the  noonday  gun  boomed,  and  had  the 
Royalists  listened  they  might  have  heard  the  rumble  of 
artillery  and  the  rattling  of  cavalry  surrounding  them  in  a 
vast  circle.  But  had  they  heard  it  they  would  not  have 
been  stayed.  To  withdraw  now,  to  sneak  away  from  the 
very  brink  of  danger,  would  be  worse  than  death.  They 
must  go  on  to  the  end.  The  world's  eyes  were  on  them, 
or  would  be  to-morrow  ;  the  world  is  always  looking  at 
yesterday. 

Like  bees  from  a  hive  they  swarmed,  a  handful  of  men, 
from  the  door  of  the  mess-tent,  drawing  their  swords  to 
conquer  a  kingdom  for  a  king  who  had  run  away.  There 
was  a  noble  despair  in  their  hearts. 

"  Up  with  the  King's  banner  !"  shouted  Featherstone, 
and  Dacre  went  to  the  mast  and  drew  up  the  flag. 

"God  save  the  King!"  shouted  every  throat,  as  the 
heavy  folds  went  upward. 

But  there  was  a  hitch  in  the  halyards,  and  Dacre's  excite 
ment  did  not  allow  him  to  remove  it  quickly.  The  royal 
banner  stopped  on  its  way  aloft — stopped  at  the  half  mast 
— and  there  ominously  remained  for  a  full  half  minute  be 
fore  the  lines  were  cleared  and  it  soared  to  the  masthead. 

On  the  parade-ground  seven  regiments  of  infantry  had 
wheeled  into  line,  and  presented  arms  as  the  commander 
rode  to  the  front  of  the  brigade.  When  the  noonday  gun 
boomed,  a  thrill  went  through  the  scarlet  ranks,  for  even 


RAISING    OF   THE  FLAG.  157 

the  linesmen  knew  that  a  tragedy  was  about  to  be  enacted. 
The  word  had  been  passed  through  the  camp  that  the 
Royalist  traitors  would  at  that  hour  declare  themselves. 

Never  was  drama  seen  upon  the  stage  in  which  the 
actors  approached  the  tragic  ending  so  fatuously,  so  delib 
erately. 

Colonel  Arundel,  riding  in  front  of  the  staff,  halted  and 
faced  the  brigade.  The  troops  presented  arms  ;  the  band 
played  the  national  anthem,  "  God  Save  the  People  !'' 
When  the  music  had  ceased  the  eyes  of  Colonel  Arundel 
were  turned  to  the  flag-pole  at  the  mess-tent.  His  heart 
leaped  within  him  when  he  saw  the  lines  shake,  and  then, 
true  to  the  moment  of  time,  up  went  the  flag  of  the  King. 

"  Soldiers  !"  shouted  the  old  commander,  baring  his 
white  head  and  pointing  to  the  royal  banner  ;  * '  behold  the 
flag  of  your  King  and  country  !  King  George  has  come 
to  claim  his  own  again,  and  he  is  now  in  personal  com 
mand  of  this  camp.  God  save  the  King  !" 

The  whole  brigade  stared  at  the  flagstaff  where  the  big 
banner  of  King  George  had  stopped  at  the  half-mast  like  a 
mourning  emblem.  A  round  of  suppressed  laughter  came 
from  the  troops— a  sound  that  sent  a  shudder  through  the 
old  colonel's  heart,  which  no  violent  outcry  could  have  done. 

The  vibration  of  the  commander's  voice  was  still  in  the 
air  when  a  horseman  dashed  down  to  the  head  of  the  bri 
gade,  a  man  with  a  face  of  terrible  power  and  purpose.  It 
was  Colonel  Devereux.  He  faced  the  brigade  like  a  man 
cast  in  iron,  so  still  he  sat  for  half  a  minute.  He  was  an 
electric  centre,  reaching  the  eyes  and  nerves  of  every  man 
in  the  brigade. 

"  Present — arms  !"  and  the  brigade  sprang  into  motion 
beneath  his  thrilling  voice. 


158  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Men  !"  he  said  slowly,  but  with  a  force  that  sent  his 
voice  to  both  flanks  of  the  brigade,  "  the  command  of  this 
camp  has  this  day  been  given  to  me  by  the  only  power  on 
earth  able  to  give  it — the  President  of  the  British  Repub 
lic." 

"  And  I,  sir — what  am  I  ?"  indignantly  demanded  Col 
onel  Arundel,  but  in  a  voice  too  low  to  reach  the  soldiers' 
ears.  Insulted  as  he  was  he  would  have  no  altercation  in 
front  of  the  troops. 

"  You,  sir  !"  answered  Colonel  Devereux,  and  his  voice 
rang  like  a  trumpet,  "  you  are  a  traitor  to  the  people  !" 

While  this  scene  was  in  action,  an  insignificant  move 
ment  took  place  on  the  inner  flank  of  one  regiment  in  the 
brigade.  A  sergeant  and  six  men  were  detached,  and  the 
squad  marched  at  a  quick  step  along  the  rear  till  they  came 
to  the  centre,  when  they  wheeled  to  the  front,  passed 
through  fhe  formation,  and  halted  directly  in  front  of 
Colonel  Arundel.  The  grounding  of  their  arms  com 
pleted  the  terrible  charge  of  the  new  commander. 

"  Soldiers,"  cried  Colonel  Devereux,  turning  to  the 
brigade,  "  behold  the  death  of  a  traitor  !" 

The  sergeant  gave  the  word  to  his  men  in  a  low  voice, 
and  seven  rifles  were  levelled  at  Colonel  Arundel,  who  sat 
still  in  his  saddle,  hat  in  hand,  as  he  had  saluted  the 
King's  flag.  One  swift  turn  of  his  head  now  and  he  saw 
the  great  emblazoned  banner  in  the  air  ;  the  next  moment 
his  breast  was  torn  to  pieces,  and  the  old  man  fell  forward 
as  his  horse  swerved,  and  then  the  body  tumbled  from  the 
saddle  and  lay  in  front  of  the  brigade. 

"  Colonel  Gardener,  take  command  here,"  said  Deve 
reux  to  an  officer  in  the  horror-struck  staff ;  * '  and  you, 
gentlemen,"  designating  three  or  four  of  the  staff  by  a 


THE  RAISING    OF  THE  FLAG.  159 

motion  of  his  hand,  "  follow  me."  He  wheeled  his  horse 
and  rode  straight  for  the  mess-tent,  where  the  royal  banner 
was  flying. 

A  young  artillery  officer,  with  one  Catling  gun  and  a 
dozen  troopers,  were  galloping  toward  the  place  from  an 
other  direction.  They  reached  the  tent  at  the  same  mo 
ment  as  Colonel  Devereux. 

"  Halt  !"  he  shouted  to  the  gunners,  and  the  mounted 
party  stopped  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"  Haul  down  that  flag  !"  he  ordered  Dacre,  pointing 
with  his  naked  sword. 

"  Never  !"  answered  Dacre,  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
mast. 

Colonel  Devereux  gave  a  stern  command  to  the  officer 
of  the  gun  ;  the  piece  was  trained  on  the  flagstaff,  and 
next  instant,  with  a  hellish  roar,  its  sixty  bullets  tore  the 
flag-pole  into  shreds,  and  the  enormous  banner  cumbered 
the  wet  earth. 

Before  the  discharge  Geoffrey  had  bodily  seized  Dacre 
and  dragged  him  out  of  range.  Better,  perhaps,  had  he 
left  him  to  his  fate,  for  death  at  that  moment,  with  his  duty 
done,  his  sword  in  hand  and  his  flag  above  him,  would 
have  saved  him  the  deeper  agony  of  shame  and  disappoint 
ment,  which  walked  with  him  like  shadows  henceforward 
to  the  grave. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  gun  ordered  his  troopers 
and  drivers  to  ride  across  the  fallen  banner ;  and  the  hoofs 
and  muddy  wheels  rent  it  to  pieces  and  befouled  it  in  the 
mire. 

"  You  are  a  coward  1"  cried  Dacre,  and  rushing  to  the 
front  he  crossed  swords  with  the  mounted  officer,  wound 
ing  him  in  the  arm.  Next  moment  he  was  stretched  sense- 


160  THE  KING^S  MEN. 

less  on  the  ill-fated  flag,  a  gunner  having  struck  him  down 
with  the  stock  of  his  carbine. 

The  others  yielded  without  a  word.  The  artillery 
officer,  his  hand  dripping  blood,  took  their  swords  one 
by  one  and  flung  them  contemptuously  on  the  flag,  beside 
John  Dacre' s  senseless  body. 

As  they  were  marched  off,  surrounded  by  a  cavalry 
guard,  to  be  taken  to  London,  Mr.  Sydney,  seeing  that 
the  Duke  of  Bayswater  could  hardly  keep  up,  gave  his  arm 
to  the  infirm  old  man. 

"  This  is  a  grim  joke,"  said  Sydney  ;  "  I  wonder  what 
they  will  do  with  our  friend  Dacre." 

"  Thanks,"  said  the  poor  old  fellow,  leaning  heavily  on 
Sydney,  and  putting  up  his  collar  to  keep  out  the  rain. 
Then  he  turned  a  last  look  at  Dacre,  still  lying  as  he  had 
fallen.  "  If  he  is  dead,  I  suppose  they  will  bury  him  like 
a  Christian  gentleman,  as  he  was. ' '  And,  raising  his  hat, 
the  courtly  old  man  saluted  the  fallen  soldier. 

Featherstone  handed  Geoffrey  a  cigar,  and  lighted  one 
himself  as  the  procession  started. 

"  I  wonder  where  King  George  the  F'ifth  is  about  this 
time,"  he  said,  with  a  forlorn  smile. 

' '  No  matter  where  he  is, ' '  answered  Geoffrey,  in  a  voice 
of  settled  belief ;  "  one  thing  is  certain  :  Monarchy  is 
dead  forever  in  England — and  it  is  time  !" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

IN   THE    LION'S    MOUTH. 

THE  news  of  the  suppression  of  the  conspiracy  and  the 
arrest  of  the  ringleaders  caused  great  excitement  over  Eng 
land.  Enormous  crowds  paraded  the  streets  of  London 
demanding  the  exile  of  all  persons  who  had  formerly  borne 
titles.  The  King  was  hung  in  effigy  and  his  lay  figure 
cremated  in  the  public  kiln  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  So 
cialism  became  rampant.  A  rabble  of  the  lowest  orders  of 
the  people  invaded  Hyde  Park  and  the  other  public 
gardens,  making  day  and  night  hideous  with  their  orgies. 
The  famous  Albert  memorial  statue  was  blown  to  shivers 
by  dynamite  at  high  noon,  and  unbridled  license  became 
the  watchword  of  the  masses.  Such  anarchy  had  never 
been  known  in  England.  Even  the  government,  who  at 
first  were  inclined  to  suffer  the  demonstration  against  the 
Royalists  to  gather  head,  grew  alarmed.  Absolute  revolu 
tion  was  imminent,  and  resolute  measures  had  to  be  taken. 
Nor  did  the  public  temper  cool  until  threescore  of  the  most 
wretched  of  those  who  live  in  the  foul  dens  of  the  great 
city  lay  dead  along  the  streets  of  Kensington  and  Belgravia. 
The  military  were  forced  to  shoot  them  down  to  stem  the 
tumult. 

Comparative  quiet  was  restored  at  the  end  of  ten  days, 


1 62  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

and  then  the  government  ventured  to  bring  the  prisoners 
to  London  under  a  strong  guard  and  lodge  them  in  the 
Tower.  Twenty  thousand  people,  it  is  estimated,  dogged 
the  footsteps  of  the  troops  who  escorted  them,  and  it  was 
only  the  points  of  bayonets  and  the  muskets  ready  to  deal 
death  at  a  word  that  secured  their  safety.  The  conspira 
tors  marched  two  and  two  with  lancers  carrying  loaded 
carbines  on  each  flank.  There  were  sixteen  in  all.  John 
Dacre  and  Geoffrey  Ripon  were  side  by  side.  Neither  of 
them  had  much  hope  of  escaping  the  fury  of  the  mob. 
The  Duke  of  Bayswater  and  Colonel  Featherstone  rode  a 
little  in  advance.  The  poor  old  duke's  hat  had  fallen  off, 
and  his  bald  head  was  a  shining  mark  for  missiles.  An 
egg  had  struck  his  pate  and  made  an  offensive  daub. 

The  streets  through  which  the  procession  passed  were 
lined  with  spectators.  From  Government  House,  Presi 
dent  Bagshaw  and  the  leading  members  of  the  party  in 
power  looked  down  upon  their  victims,  and  the  windows 
of  Whitehall  across  the  way  afforded  a  view  to  the  friends 
of  the  opposition,  among  whom  sat  Richard  Lincoln  and 
his  daughter.  The  great  commoner  would  have  preferred 
to  avoid  the  spectacle,  but  Mary  had  expressed  a  desire  to 
see  the  prisoners  on  their  way  through  the  streets.  She 
looked  pale  and  stony-eyed  as  she  sat  watching  for  them, 
and  her  father  sighed  as  he  observed  her,  for  he  knew  her 
secret.  His  brow  was  anxious.  These  were  troublesome 
times  and  a  source  of  concern  to  all  who  loved  their  coun 
try.  He  knew  the  government  to  be  composed  of  men 
who  thought  only  of  their  own  interests.  This  semblance 
of  authority  was  the  sole  bar  that  prevented  the  insubordi 
nate  masses  from  overriding  law  and  decency.  How  long 
would  President  Bagshaw  be  able  to  withstand  the  popular 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH.  163 

clamor  for  a  liberty  that  was  akin  to  pillage  ?  This  foolish 
conspiracy  had  biassed  thousands  of  order-loving  citizens 
against  conservative  measures.  His  own  party  were  re 
duced  to  a  pitiful  minority,  and  the  conduct  of  the  Royalists 
had  caused  a  reaction  which  threatened  to  engulf  the  con 
stitution  and  the  laws.  And,  as  if  that  were  not  enough  to 
sadden  the  soul  of  an  honest  man,  his  only  daughter  loved 
the  traitor  whose  mad  enthusiasm  had  precipitated  these 
ills  upon  the  country. 

It  was  Mary's  voice  that  interrupted  his  revery. 

"  They  are  coming,  father. " 

Lincoln  looked  out,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
the  streets  were  black  with  a  sea  of  heads.  The  glistening 
of  bayonets,  the  waving  flags,  the  uniforms,  the  mad  shouts 
and  derisive  groans,  and  above  the  tumult  the  drums  beat 
ing  in  full  rhythm,  made  an  exciting  scene.  But  all  was 
lost  upon  Mary.  Her  eye  had  singled  out  John  Dacre, 
and  she  was  gazing  down  at  him  in  speechless  agony.  He 
appeared  to  her  wan  and  sick.  His  clothes  were  torn  and 
covered  with  mud.  But  he  bore  himself  as  ever,  erect  and 
dignified. 

As  though  by  instinct,  he  looked  up  to  the  window,  and 
their  eyes  met.  He  raised  his  hat  with  the  courtly  grace 
of  a  gentleman,  forgetting  for  an  instant  the  situation  and 
the  consequences  that  may  accrue  to  her  he  saluted.  The 
glance  of  the  crowd  followed  his  gesture,  and  many  caught 
sight  of  the  pale  girl  and  beheld  her  throw  a  rose  to  the 
handsome  prisoner.  It  fell  wide  of  him  for  whom  it  was 
meant  ;  indeed,  he  did  not  see  the  flower  fall.  It  dropped 
among  the  crowd,  and  would  have  been  trampled  in  the 
mud  beneath  the  feet  of  those  who  hated  her  lover  had  not 
Geoffrey  Ripon  darted  from  the  ranks  and  snatched  it  up 


1 64  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

to  his  infinite  peril,  for  the  trooper  at  his  side  struck  him 
with  the  butt  of  his  carbine.  "  See/'  he  said  to  Dacre, 
who  was  stalking  on  in  unconscious  revery  ;  ' '  see,  she  has 
thrown  you  a  rose.  Be  of  good  cheer,  man."  And 
Geoffrey  could  not  help  thinking  that  if  the  one  he  loved 
had  dropped  a  rose  at  his  feet,  how  slight  a  thing  his  pres 
ent  plight  would  seem. 

But  Richard  Lincoln  saw  her  action,  and,  with  a  start  of 
anger,  he  said,  "  That  man  is  a  traitor,  Mary.  And  yet 
you  are  my  daughter. ' ' 

Those  of  his  friends  standing  near  had  failed  to  notice 
her  throw  the  rose,  nor  did  they  now  heed  the  blush  which 
mantled  her  face  as  she  looked  up  at  their  leader. 

"I  know  it,  father;  but  I  love  him,"  she  whispered, 
and  she  would  have  fainted  had  not  Lincoln  supported  her 
with  his  strong  arms  and  led  her  from  the  room. 

There  was  another  also  who  watched  the  prisoners  with 
eyes  of  recognition.  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  had  left  her  lodg 
ings  early  in  the  morning  so  as  to  secure  a  good  position 
from  which  to  view  the  procession,  and  from  a  coign  of 
vantage  close  by  the  houses  of  Parliament  was  feasting  her 
gaze  upon  the  victims  of  her  treachery.  A  long  cloak  cov 
ered  her  figure,  and  her  face  was  muffled.  Only  her  beau 
tiful  eyes  were  visible.  Owing  to  the  bitter  feeling  preva 
lent  against  the  Royalists,  she  feared  to  show  herself,  for 
she  had  been  so  intimately  associated  with  the  dissipations 
of  the  nobility,  the  people  would  have  stoned  her.  She 
felt  proof  against  discovery  in  her  present  garb,  and  had 
waited  for  hours,  hedged  about  by  the  rabble,  for  a  glimpse 
of  Geoffrey  Ripon. 

Her  revenge  had  been  swift  and  equal  to  her  expecta 
tion.  Its  sequel  was  yet  to  follow.  As  she  gazed  at  the 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH.  165 

face  of  the  young  man,  which  exposure  had  rather  enno 
bled  and  made  more  handsome,  strange  feelings  were 
awakened  within  her.  She  scarcely  knew  whether  she 
were  sorry  to  see  him  there  in  peril  of  his  life,  or  that  she 
would  be  pleased  to  know  that  he  had  paid  the  penalty  of 
treason  with  his  head.  Her  love  and  hate  were  so  inter 
mingled  that  she  could  not  distinguish  which  had  the  upper 
hand.  He  passed  close  to  where  she  was  standing.  But 
even  had  he  been  able  to  recognize  her,  he  could  not  have 
suspected  that  her  perfidy  was  the  occasion  of  his  misfort 
une.  She  had  guarded  her  secret  carefully.  President 
Bagshaw  had  been  true  to  his  word.  No  rumor  of  the 
means  by  which  the  conspiracy  was  unearthed  had  reached 
the  public  ear. 

As  she  made  her  way  home  through  the  crowded  street 
after  the  procession  had  passed,  reflection  as  to  what  would 
be  Geoffrey's  fate  absorbed  her  thoughts.  In  the  present 
state  of  the  public  temper  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would 
escape  death.  To  be  shot  for  high  treason  seemed  the 
logical  sequel  to  his  escapade.  Well,  if  it  must  be  so,  she 
preferred  to  see  him  on  the  scaffold  rather  than  in  the  arms 
of  another.  She  would  wait  until  all  was  over,  and  then 
find  in  America  solace  for  her  disappointment.  She  had 
played  her  cards  well.  The  King  was  madly  in  love  with 
her,  and  she  had  no  fear  of  his  sailing  away  without  her. 
If  so,  there  was  Jawkins  still.  She  had  lulled  the  manager 
into  such  a  feeling  of  security  that  he  had  run  up  to  Scot 
land  to  undertake  an  important  contract.  An  American 
billionaire,  having  rented  the  Trossachs  for  the  season, 
had  engaged  him  to  superintend  his  arrangements.  Titled 
people  were  at  a  premium  since  the  discovery  of  the  con 
spiracy,  and  Jawkins  could  command  his  own  prices.  His 


1 66  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

reply  to  this  patron,  "  I  will  provide  you  with  a  pair  of 
peers  if  I  have  to  filch  them  from  prison,  but  they  come 
high,"  was  illustrative  alike  of  the  energy  and  the  business 
sagacity  of  the  man.  The  poor  old  Archbishop  of  Canter 
bury,  who  had  escaped  from  Aldershot  scot  free,  was  being 
hurried  from  one  corner  of  England  to  the  other  to  supply 
dinner  requirements.  Jawkins  had  caused  her  some 
trouble  at  first,  it  is  true.  Upon  the  receipt  of  her  tele 
gram  at  Ripon  House  he  had  hurried  up  to  London,  and 
ferreting  out  her  lodgings  accused  her  of  wishing  to  give 
him  the  slip.  She  had  assuaged  his  feelings  by  lunching 
with  him  at  a  public  restaurant  and  permitting  him  to  en 
gage  their  passages  to  America  for  a  fortnight  later.  Had 
it  not  been  for  the  King's  arrival  she  would  have  kept  faith 
with  him. 

The  trial  of  the  prisoners  was  set  down  for  one  week 
after  their  consignment  to  the  Tower.  Ixt  was  to  take  place 
in  the  House  of  Parliament,  and  the  indictment  against  all 
was  for  high  treason.  The  attorney-general,  James  Mc- 
Pherson,  was  to  conduct  the  case  for  the  government,  and 
the  accused  retained  the  services  of  Calhoun  Benjamin,  a 
great-grandson  of  the  Benjamin  for  some  time  a  famous 
lawyer  in  the  reign  of  Victoria.  It  was  not  permissible  for 
any  member  of  either  house  to  appear  as  counsel.  The 
constitution  required  that  the  joint  bodies  should  adjudge 
the  cause.  Still,  after  the  formal  arguments  any  member 
was  at  liberty  to  rise  to  a  question  of  privilege  and  address 
the  assembly.  Such  was  indeed  the  usual  custom. 

Mary  Lincoln  doubtless  had  this  in  mind  when  she 
whispered  to  her  father  the  evening  before  the  trial,  "  You 
will  speak  for  him,  will  you  not,  father?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Richard  Lincoln.      "  Why  should 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH.  167 

I,  Mary  ?  His  desert  is  death,  and  I  should  not  know 
what  to  say  in  his  behalf." 

"  But  if  all  of  us  were  treated  according  to  our  deserts, 
how  few  of  us  would  escape  scathing.  Only  you,  father  ; 
I  know  of  no  one  beside." 

The  patriot  looked  down  at  the  pale  girl  sitting  at  his 
fee*"  and  stroked  her  hair.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  gazed  at  him  imploringly.  He  knew  her  secret  to 
the  uttermost  now.  She  had  told  him,  all  the  evening  of 
that  dreadful  day  when  London  saw  her  throw  down  a  rose 
to  her  country's  traitor.  Still,  if  it  were  to  do  again, 
would  she  not  do  it  ?  Her  love  was  stronger  than  her 
sense  of  shame. 

Richard  Lincoln  sat  and  gazed  into  the  fire.  These 
were  indeed  troublesome  times,  but  a  light  seemed  break 
ing  just  below  where  the  clouds  lowered  darkest.  A  week 
had  seen  a  great  change  in  public  sentiment.  Debate  in 
Parliament  had  been  fierce  and  bitter.  At  the  head  of  his 
party  he  had  striven  to  show  that  those  who  held  the  reins 
of  power  abused  and  deceived  the  masses,  and  that  true 
liberty  lay  not  in  ignorant  usurpation  of  right,  but  intelli 
gent  recognition  of  a  lawfully  constituted  authority  which 
regarded  all  alike.  At  first  his  purpose  had  been  misinter 
preted,  but  as  by  degrees  the  true  significance  of  his  words 
were  grasped  by  the  popular  mind,  groans  gave  place  to 
silence,  and  sullenness  to  cheers.  He  had  not  hesitated  to 
wield  the  axe  of  reform  with  a  yeoman's  hand,  and  the 
flying  chips  told  of  the  havoc  he  was  making  among  the 
dead  wood  of  ignorance  and  craft.  It  was  his  aim  to 
demonstrate  that  a  demagogue  in  the  seat  of  power  is  no 
less  a  menace  to  the  happiness  of  the  people  than  an  aris 
tocrat. 


168  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Yet  in  the  face  of  his  triumph  arose  the  shadow  of  this 
strange,  unnatural  love  ;  for  it  seemed  unnatural  to  him 
that  his  only  child  should  have  given  her  heart  to  one 
whose  ambition  it  was  to  destroy  that  which  he  had  helped 
to  establish  and  bring  back  the  frippery  of  an  unhallowed 
past.  He  had  found  it  difficult  at  first  to  conceive  it  as 
possible,  but  her  confession,  and  more  eloquently  still  her 
pallid  cheeks,  left  no  room  to  question  the  truth  of  this 
misfortune.  And  to-morrow  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
doom  to  the  scaffold  the  man  whose  being  had  become  so 
much  a  part  of  hers  as  to  have  led  her  to  play  the  traitor 
also.  As  thus  he  pondered  the  breaking  light  seemed  to 
fade  from  the  sky,  and  the  clouds  lowered  gloomy  and  im 
penetrable. 

"  Father,"  said  Mary  again,  "  I  am  sure  you  can  save 
him." 

Lincoln  shook  his  head.  "  Not  even  if  I  would,  girl," 
he  replied,  sternly. 

"  You,  too,  desert  me,"  she  murmured.  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  for  a  moment,  then  with  a  sudden 
impulse  she  stood,  tall  and  resolute.  Her  eyes  flashed 
fire.  "If  it  is  wrong  to  love  a  traitor,  let  it  be  so.  I 
cannot  help  loving  John  Dacre,  and  I  should  like  to  die 
with  him." 

Richard  Lincoln  gazed  at  her  in  amazement.  There 
was  pride,  too,  in  his  glance.  He  saw  in  her  transfigured 
face  a  repetition  of  his  own  youth  when  the  spirit  soared 
impatient  of  restraint  and  knew  not  yet  the  curbs  that 
check  the  extravagance  of  ardent  natures.  In  those  early 
days  he  had  struck  out  for  the  ideal  right,  even  as  her 
heart  in  the  fulness  of  its  love  poured  out  its  tide  of  pas 
sion.  He  held  out  his  hands  to  her,  and  his  lips  trembled. 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH,  169 

"  My  child,  my  child  !  would  to  God  I  could  save  your 
lover.  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside. 
Do  not  spurn  your  father's  arms.  His  breast  is  your 
rightful  place  for  comfort  now." 

She  suffered  him  to  clasp  her  in  his  embrace.  "  I  will 
be  brave/'  she  whispered,  looking  up  into  his  eyes. 
"  Kiss  me  ;  I  will  be  brave,  and — and  when  he  dies  let  me 
die,  too." 

"  My  child  !"  murmured  Lincoln  again,  and  there  was 
terror  as  well  as  pity  in  his  tone.  He  held  her  close,  and 
her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder.  "  All  may  yet  be  well, 
my  dear  one,"  he  said  tenderly. 

Before  daybreak  the  next  morning  a  stream  of  people 
was  pouring  up  from  the  city  and  winding  its  way  through 
Cheapside  and  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand  to  the  judgment 
hall  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  By  the  time  the  guard 
from  the  Tower  reached  Westminster,  vast  multitudes  lined 
the  sidewalks  and  formed  so  dense  a  mass  in  the  square  in 
front  of  the  gates  that  progress  was  well-nigh  impossible. 
The  populace  was  orderly,  however,  and  fell  back  before 
the  horses  of  a  troop  of  cavalry,  with  no  further  demonstra 
tion  than  a  sullen  murmur. 

The  prisoners  were  brought  before  the  bar  of  the  Com 
mons,  and  the  Upper  House  entered  immediately  after  to 
take  their  seats.  It  was  an  impressive  scene.  One  might 
have  heard  a  pin  drop  as  the  officer  of  the  Crown  rose  to 
read  the  indictment,  and  again  when,  as  he  sat  down,  the 
hoarse  voice  of  the  clerk  called  out  the  names  of  the 
accused,  shorn  of  all  titles,  to  rise  and  answer  to  the  charge 
of  high  treason  against  the  Republic  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland. 

"  What  say  you,  John  Dacre— guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 


1 70  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Not  guilty." 

Dacre's  glance  moved  gravely  around  the  vast  hall  and 
met  the  gaze  of  a  thousand  eyes  without  flinching.  Fate 
willed  that  it  should  distinguish  a  pale,  lovely  face  amid 
the  press  that  lined  the  galleries,  and  linger  thereon  a 
moment  as  though  loath  to  turn  aside  ;  but  even  while  he 
gazed,  the  drapery  and  shoulder  of  another  woman  were 
interposed  between  his  sight  and  the  delicate  features  of 
Mary  Lincoln,  and  shut  her  from  his  view.  "  What  say 
you,  Geoffrey  Ripon  ?  Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

It  was  these  words  that  had  caused  the  stranger  to  lean 
forward  and  crane  her  neck — a  beautiful  neck  that,  muffled 
as  she  was,  did  not  wholly  escape  the  admiration  of  her 
neighbors.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  a  light  cold  and  mali 
cious  as  the  gleam  which  emanates  from  a  blade  of  steel. 
As  the  lips  of  young  Geoffrey  Ripon  flung  back  a  clear 
denial  of  the  charge,  a  hope  was  in  his  heart  that  the  sweet 
maiden  of  his  fancy  might  be  among  the  hundreds  looking 
down.  She  was  not  there,  but  her  rival,  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey,  sat  and  watched  each  shade  of  his  expression. 

And  now  the  witnesses  were  summoned  and  confronted 
the  prisoners.  The  proofs  were  ample  and  overwhelming. 
It  almost  seemed  mistrusting  the  intelligence  of  the  judges 
to  dwell  upon  the  evidence,  to  quote  the  opening  words  of 
the  attorney-general,  and  as  a  consequence  the  argument 
of  that  official  was  a  model  of  conciseness.  Then  the  time 
was  come  for  the  defendants'  counsel.  Mr.  Benjamin 
arose  and  spoke  for  an  hour.  His  speech  was  painstaking, 
but  not  particularly  impressive.  In  conclusion  he  said 
that  rebellion  had  often  been  punished  before  without  the 
shedding  of  blood.  He  instanced  Jefferson  Davis,  the 
great  Secessionist,  and  the  clemency  of  the  American  peo- 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH.  171 

pie.  Mr.  McPherson  in  reply  adduced  the  Irish  rebels 
executed  by  the  government  of  Victoria,  and  thereat  a 
shout  arose  which  shook  the  walls  of  Parliament  and  was 
echoed  by  the  crowd  outside.  Even  the  prisoners  glanced 
at  each  other  with  downcast  looks.  The  perspiration  stood 
out  in  beads  on  the  bald  head  of  the  Duke  of  Bayswater. 
' "  It  is  all  up  with  us,"  whispered  Ripon  to  Dacre. 

"  My  God  and  my  King  !  It  is  a  noble  cause  to  die 
for, ' '  answered  the  cavalier,  and  his  proud  face  looked 
beatified. 

There  was  a  dread  and  awful  silence  as  the  attorney- 
general  finished  his  last  words.  The  hour  for  judgment 
had  arrived,  unless  it  were  that  some  senator  or  commoner 
wished  to  speak  for  or  against  the  prisoners.  A  bitter  and 
illiterate  friend  of  the  government  saw  fit  to  spring  to  his 
feet  and  enter  upon  a  violent  harangue.  Clemency  would 
be  misplaced  in  the  present  juncture,  he  said.  Death  for 
one  and  all  was  the  proper  measure  to  be  meted  out  to 
Royalists  and  traitors.  His  truculent  words  seemed  to 
please  the  audience,  and  he  sat  down  amid  a  tempest  of 
applause.  For  an  instant  there  was  no  movement  on 
either  side  of  the  house,  and  then  Richard  Lincoln,  the 
leader  of  the  opposition,  arose  and  stepped  out  into  the 
aisle,  so  as  to  command  his  hearers.  A  flutter  of  expecta 
tion,  a  murmur  of  surprise,  spread  through  the  assembly, 
and  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  every  ear  was  alert 
to  catch  his  words. 

' '  I  rise, ' '  he  said,  ' '  to  speak  for  the  people,  the  great, 
true-souled  people.  They  have,  it  seems  to  me,  no  repre 
sentative  here,  or  I  have  failed  to  interpret  aright  the  lan 
guage  of  my  predecessor.  Are  the  people  merciless  ? 
Have  they  no  heart  ?  I  know  that  the  contrary  is  true. 


172  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

It  is  no  argument  with  them  that  others  have  preferred 
cruelty  to  mercy,  and  vengeance  to  justice.  I  stand  here 
to-day,  for  the  people  and  for  justice. " 

He  paused,  and  as  no  sound  expressed  one  way  or  the 
other  the  feelings  of  his  auditors,  he  spoke  once  more  : 

"  Let  these  men  live.  Fine  or  imprisonment  will 
accomplish  all  that  you  desire,  save  the  satisfaction  of 
revenge.  Capital  punishment  in  this  age  of  the  world  is 
an  ugly  smear  upon  the  escutcheon  of  constitutional  lib 
erty.  Let  these  men  live,  and  your  children's  children 
will  write  you  down  in  their  books  as  worthy  of  remem 
brance.  They  are  guilty,  but  blood  will  not  atone  for 
wrong-doing.  Let  them  live,  I  say,  in  the  name  of  justice 
and  the  people. ' ' 

He  finished  and  sat  down.  Not  much  of  a  speech  in 
the  way  of  argument,  some  will  say.  It  is  the  manner  more 
than  the  matter  of  words  that  sways  men's  hearts.  No 
cheers  were  heard,  it  is  true,  but  his  hearers  sat  upon  the 
benches  thoughtful  and  silent.  The  Speaker  of  the  House 
glanced  about  him,  but  no  one  rose  to  contradict  the  testi 
mony  that  had  fallen  from  the  lips  of  Richard  Lincoln. 

And  now  the  judges  arose  and  left  the  hall.  For  four 
hours  the  assembly  and  the  crowds  in  the  streets  waited  in 
patience.  Before  the  fifth  had  elapsed  the  usher's  rod  an 
nounced  that  a  verdict  had  been  reached.  The  silence  was 
breathless.  The  Speaker  took  the  scroll  from  the  hands  of 
William  Peters,  the  leader  of  the  House,  and  read  aloud 
that  John  Dacre,  as  the  master  spirit  of  the  late  rebellion 
at  Aldershot,  was  sentenced  to  be  shot  to  death  at  noon  of 
the  next  day,  and  that  all  the  other  leaders  were  to  be  im 
prisoned  for  the  term  of  fifteen  years. 

There  was  a  roar  and  a  rush  as  the  people  rose  to  escape 


IN  THE  LION'S  MOUTH.  173 

from  the  galleries,  and  few  observed  a  slender  girl  slip 
from  her  seat  to  the  floor.  A  woman  with  beautiful  eyes, 
whose  face  was  otherwise  veiled  from  view,  stooped  to  her 
succor,  then  gave  a  shrill  cry.  Mary  Lincoln  lay  lifeless. 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey,  whose  shriek  it  was  that  made  this 
known,  was  not  one  to  believe  that  a  woman  can  die  of  a 
broken  heart.  But  if  even  such  a  result  of  her  treachery 
had  been  foreshadowed  to  her,  she  would  not  have  faltered. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

AN     UNFINISHED     TASK. 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  sentence  was  pronounced  the 
prisoners  were  led  back  to  the  Tower.  They  were  chained 
together  by  twos,  and  Sir  John  walked  with  Geoffrey. 
During  the  entire  walk  from  St.  Stephen's,  along  the 
river  embankment,  neither  of  them  spoke  to  the  other. 
For  Geoffrey,  at  least,  it  was  a  subject  of  life-long  regret 
that  he  had  not  done  so. 

It  was  part  of  the  policy  of  Bagshaw's  government  thus 
to  march  them  through  the  streets,  a  spectacle,  like  a  cara 
van  of  caged  beasts,  for  the  populace.  Geoffrey  thought 
to  himself,  curiously,  of  the  old  triumphs  of  the  Roman 
emperors  he  had  read  about  as  a  schoolboy.  Then,  as 
now,  the  people  needed  bread  and  loved  a  show.  But  the 
people,  even  then,  had  caught  something  of  the  dignity  of 
power.  Silently  they  pressed  upon  the  sidewalks  and 
thronged  the  gardens  by  the  river.  Not  a  voice  was  raised 
in  mockery  of  these  few  men  ;  there  is  something  in  the 
last  extremity  of  misfortune  which  commands  respect,  even 
from  the  multitude.  And,  perhaps,  even  then  the  first- 
fruits  of  freedom  might  have  been  marked  in  their  manner, 
and  magnanimity,  the  first  virtue  of  liberty,  kept  the 
London  rabble  hushed. 


AN  UNFINISHED    TASK.  175 

Geoffrey's  eyes  were  turned  within  as  he  walked,  as  if 
he  were  thinking,  but  of  thoughts  far  distant,  far  back  in 
the  past.  Dacre  held  his  glance  still  high  and  forward, 
fixed  and  straight  upon  the  road  before  him.  Only  once, 
when  they  passed  the  Temple  gardens,  did  Geoffrey's  eyes 
stray  outward  ;  it  was  when  he  marked  the  windows  of  his 
old  study  in  the  Inner  Temple,  where  he  had  studied  to  be 
a  barrister  in  days  gone  by  ;  then  his  look  grew  introspec 
tive  as  before. 

When  they  came  to  the  gate  of  the  Tower  the  soldiers 
divided  and  drew  apart  in  two  lines,  between  which  the 
prisoners  passed  into  the  great  courtyard.  A  squad  of  the 
Tower  garrison — no  longer  in  the  gay  livery  of  the  King, 
but  in  the  plain  black  coat  and  helmet  of  policemen — 
stood  before  the  door.  The  banner  of  the  British  Republic 
— the  red  and  white  stripes,  with  the  green  union  and  the 
harp — floated  over  the  loftiest  tower  of  all.  The  prisoners 
were  then  separated,  and  each  was  led  to  a  different  cell. 
Then  for  the  first  time  Geoffrey  thought  of  Dacre  ;  but  he 
was  already  under  a  special  escort  and  being  led  away  ;  it 
was  too  late.  The  last  that  Geoffrey  saw  of  him  he  was 
walking  erect,  with  his  silent  lips  still  closed,  steady  like 
the  course  of  some  strong  stream  above  the  fall.  As  he 
watched  him,  Geoffrey  heard  the  distant  murmur  of  the 
people  beyond  the  gates. 

Geoffrey  well  remembered  the  room  that  was  his  prison. 
He  had  been  taken  there  as  a  sightseer  when  a  child.  It 
was  in  the  Beauchamp  Tower  ;  and — strange  coincidence 
— there  was  the  bear  and  ragged  staff  of  Warwick,  still  visi 
ble,  cut  deep  into  the  old  stone  walls. 

So,  thought  he,  it  had  all  ended.  History  repeats  itself, 
but  in  strange  new  forms  that  seem  as  if  they  half  mock, 


1 76  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

half  follow,  the  old.  Then,  the  King  was  wrong  ;  was 
now  the  people  in  the  right  ?  They  brought  him  some 
food  ;  and  after  eating  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and 
tried  to  sleep.  But  his  sleep  was  troubled  with  his  dreams 
of  waking  :  now  he  heard  Margaret  Windsor's  broken 
words  again  ;  now  he  was  in  the  great  hall  of  St.  Stephen's 
speaking  ;  then  he  heard  again  the  echo  of  the  gun  that 
shot  down  the  royal  flag,  and  then  the  silence  of  the 
people,  forever  estranged,  more  dread,  more  terrible  than 
any  words  of  enemies  or  noise  of  battle.  Again  he  thought 
of  Dacre  and  his  look  when  all  was  lost  :  a  look  un 
changed,  unmoved  ;  a  look  less  of  despair  than  the  majesty 
of  certain  fate — a  fate  not  new  nor  sudden,  but  chosen  of 
his  own  calm  will.  A  man  of  stone,  thought  Geoffrey  ; 
the  incarnation  of  one  thought ;  hardly  human  in  his  con 
scious  strength.  And  yet,  as  Geoffrey  saw  him  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  his  heart  went  out  to  him,  and  he 
felt  that  he  loved  this  man  as  he  had  never  loved  a  friend 
before. 

The  dawn  came,  and  its  gray  damp  breath  broke  through 
the  iron  bars.  It  seemed  all  unreal  in  the  daylight.  Old 
stories  of  escape  passed  through  his  mind  :  how  men,  in 
childish  stories  of  history  or  romance,  with  some  rude  in 
strument  of  iron,  had  carved  their  will  and  way  through 
walls  as  thick  as  these.  But  how  idle  they  seemed  !  How 
futile,  how  vain  to  make  with  his  two  hands  a  way  through 
stone,  or  burrow  like  a  mole  into  the  earth  !  And  yet 
those  legends  seemed  no  less  a  dream  than  this  of  his. 

There  was  a  strange  silence  as  the  morning  grew  on  ;  he 
wondered  if  the  world  outside  were  all  asleep.  He  had 
foreseen  it ;  and  yet  he  had  not  quite  foreseen  this  ;  some 
glorious  end,  in  a  battle,  perhaps,  righting  out  in  the  free 


AN  UNFINISHED    TASK.  177 

country,  beneath  the  sun.  Again  his  thoughts  turned  to 
his  friend,  and  he  felt  a  strange  assurance  that  Dacre  had 
foreseen  it  all  along,  but  not  held  back  his  steps  one  whit 
for  that.  And  there  was  Maggie — in  America— could  she, 
and  her  life,  be  in  the  same  world  with  this  ?  Yet  it  was 
natural  enough,  and  such  things  had  always  been,  only  he 
had  never  truly  pictured  them.  The  day  seemed  endless. 
If  he  could  only  hear  something  of  the  others,  and  not  be 
so  terribly  alone.  If  he  could  but  learn  where  they  were — 
where  Dacre  was.  He  heard  a  dull  sound  like  the  noise 
of  distant  firing,  but  more  like  thunder,  coming  heavily 
through  the  ground.  Geoffrey  ran  to  the  window,  drew 
himself  up,  and  looked  out  through  the  bars.  There  was 
a  sea  of  upturned  faces,  all  pale  and  with  one  fixed  look,  a 
myriad  times  repeated,  pointed  to  the  base  of  the  Tower 
below  his  window  where  he  could  not  see.  Then  he  fell 
back  upon  the  ground,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Dacre  himself  had  slept  that  night  a  dreamless  sleep,  as 
he  had  slept  any  night  before  in  the  years  since  he  had 
seen  his  path  and  chosen  it.  At  noon  the  people  came  to 
his  cell  and  led  him  out.  Numbers  of  men  were  standing 
in  the  corridor  and  on  the  stairs  ;  he  looked. on  between 
the  lines  and  walked  to  the  door.  Then  he  begged  that 
his  handcuffs  might  be  removed.  As  he  paused  a  mo 
ment,  Richard  Lincoln  stepped  forward  and  ordered  that  it 
should  be  done.  Then  he  fell  back,  bowing  once  to 
Dacre.  Richard  Lincoln  had  come  there  from  the  death 
bed  of  his  daughter  to  do  this  last  service  to  the  man  that 
she  loved.  Then  Dacre  passed  on,  out  of  the  great  door 
into  the  full  light  of  the  noon.  There  in  front  of  him  was 
a  great  concourse  of  people,  the  multitude  Geoffrey  had 
seen  from  his  window.  Dacre  looked  out  from  the  prison 


1 78  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

gate  with  his  fixed,  clear  eyes,  but  the  road  was  growing 
very  short  before  him  now,  and  still  his  glance  went  on 
beyond — beyond  the  company  of  soldiers  standing  thirty 
yards  in  front,  the  butts  of  their  rifles  resting  on  the 
ground. 

"  John  Dacre,  you  are  found  guilty  of  high  treason  to 
the  people.  Have  you  anything  to  say?"  It  was.  Bag- 
shaw,  the  President,  who  spoke,  in  his  capacity  as  general 
of  the  army. 

Dacre  made  no  reply.  He  was  thinking  of  the  treason 
of  his  King,  and  not  of  his  own.  And  there  in  front  of 
him  were  the  people — the  people,  in  might  of  numbers,  in 
the  majesty  of  strength,  ten  thousand  to  his  one.  But  as 
he  looked  upon  them  their  ten  thousand  faces  were  turned 
on  his,  their  hearts  within  their  eyes  ;  and  Dacre  might 
have  noted  that  in  all  of  them  there  was  not  one  but  spoke 
pity — pity,  in  their  silence,  for  himself.  Then  he  turned 
aside  from  the  door,  with  his  back  to  the  prison  wall.  "  I 
am  ready. ' ' 

"John  Dacre — you  have  nothing  to  say?"  said  the 
President  again.  "  You  may  yet  save  yourself.  Where  is 
the  King  ?"  Dacre  turned  his  glance  upon  him,  slowly. 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  he  again.  He  seemed  to  overlook 
the  President  as  he  spoke,  and  he  never  looked  at  him 
again. 

"  Give  the  order  to  make  ready  !"  said  Bagshaw, 
angrily,  to  the  officer  in  command,  and  the  slight  click  of 
the  rifles  followed  his  words. 

The  narrow  courtyard  was  as  still  as  if  deserted,  though 
it  seemed  you  could  almost  hear  the  breathing  of  the  mul 
titude  that  thronged  the  streets.  But  to  die  thus,  penned 
in  a  narrow  courtyard,  passively,  vainly,  shot  like  a  dog. 


AN   UNFINISHED    TASK.  179 

A  low  murmur  began  to  come  from  the  people,  indeter 
minate,  inarticulate  ;  it  came  to  Dacre's  ears  like  the  hum 
of  distant  battle,  and  perhaps  he  saw  the  battle,  and  the 
royal  standard,  and  that  last  unworthy  King  for  whom  this 
thing  was  done.  Then  came  Bagshaw's  voice  again  : 
"  Where  is  the  King  ?" 

"Silence,  sir!"  thundered  Richard  Lincoln,  and  Bag- 
shaw  slunk  back  a  pace  or  two,  like  a  chidden  dog. 

' '  The  King  is  dead, ' '  said  Dacre,  so  clearly  that  all  the 
people  in  the  street  heard  him,  but  no  one  made  a  sound. 
Then  he  threw  back  his  coat,  as  if  to  bare  his  breast  to  the 
levelled  muskets  ;  and  as  he  did  so  the  withered  rose  dropped 
out  and  fell  into  his  hand.  It  was  Mary  Lincoln's  rose 
that  he  had  thrust  there  on  the  day  before.  And  as  he 
looked  at  it  the  false  bonds  of  his  faith  fell  from  him  like 
the  fetters  of  a  dream,  and  he  looked  upon  the  multitude 
and  saw  that  theirs  was  the  right,  and  he  knew  that  his  life 
was  thrown  away  ;  then  first  he  remembered  she  had  loved 
him,  and  he  saw  what  might  have  been.  He  saw  the  poor 
image  of  a  king — the  King  who  had  deserted  his  own  cause 
and  left  him  in  his  loyalty  alone  ;  he  saw  the  throng  of 
humanity  standing  silent  there  before  him,  and  the  sweet 
ness  and  the  virtue  of  the  life  which  he  had  put  behind. 
Then  for  the  first  time  his  firm  lips  trembled,  as  he  lifted 
the  poor  rose  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it  once,  in  memory  of 
her  whom  he  was  leaving,  as  he  thought.  But  Mary 
Lincoln  was  dead  ;  and  as  he  turned  his  face  upward,  he 
seemed  to  see  some  vision  in  the  sky,  and  they  say  that  a 
great  glory  shone  into  his  face. 

' '  Fire  ! ' '  came  the  word,  and  the  sheet  of  flame  leaped 
out  toward  him,  and  he  fell  ;  and  the  rose-leaves,  scattered 
by  a  bullet,  lay  about  him  on  the  stones. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    LAST    ROYALIST. 

GEOFFREY'S  jailers  were  lenient  to  him  after  that  first  day. 
He  was  removed  to  a  room  with  carpet  and  furniture  ;  his 
table  was  well  served  ;  he  was  allowed  to  walk  about  in 
the  courtyards  ;  books  and  pen  and  ink  were  given  him — 
everything  but  newspapers.  The  fact  was  that  Ba^shaw 
felt  he  had  gone  too  far.  The  vindictiveness,  the  cruelty 
of  the  populace,  was  already  a  thing  of  the  past — of  that 
past  when  they  had  not  yet  learned  their  power.  The 
people  were  good-natured,  impressionable,  forgiving  ;  and 
that  low  murmur  from  the  street  on  the  day  of  Dacre's 
execution,  the  third  time  the  President  had  sought  to  make 
his  prisoner  betray  the  King,  had  well-nigh  driven  Bag- 
shaw  from  his  office.  It  was  Richard  Lincoln  who  had 
saved  the  government  that  day,  by  his  stern  rebuke  to  the 
President ;  the  latter  liked  him  none  the  better  for  that. 

Geoffrey  felt  this  change  of  sentiment  in  the  manner  of 
his  keepers  ;  and  when  he  remembered  that  first  terrible 
day,  it  was  but  to  hope  that  his  fears  had  been  exagger 
ated.  Undoubtedly  John's  sentence  would  be  commuted 
to  imprisonment  like  his  own. 

But  the  more  convinced  Geoffrey  became  of  this,  the 
more  his  mind  turned  to  the  other  persons  of  those  event- 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  181 

ful  days.  The  King  had  not  come — that  was  the  grim  fact 
— the  King  had  not  come  to  claim  his  own  ;  had  left  his 
honest  gentlemen  to.  fight  or  fall  without  him;  and  no 
one,  even  now,  could  tell  how  different  the  event  might 
have  been  that  day  had  George  the  Fifth  but  proved  his 
own  cause  worth  defending.  Geoffrey,  Dacre,  none  of 
them  had  had  news  of  the  King  since  the  day  of  Aldershot. 
Up  to  the  very  stroke  of  noon,  as  Geoffrey  remembered, 
Dacre  had  expected  him.  But  they  had  waited  in  vain. 
And  now  the  White  Horse  of  Hanover,  and  with  that  the 
Norman  Leopard,  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  From  his 
window  Geoffrey  could  see  the  red,  white,  and  green 
tricolor  in  the  Tower  yard.  He  inclined  to  think  the 
King  was  dead. 

Geoffrey  had  never  been  by  conviction  a  Legitimist ; 
hardly  even  had  he  been  one  by  affection.  Dacre's  mag 
netism,  Dacre's  nobility  of  purpose  had  overcome  his 
earlier  judgment ;  for  the  one  effort  he  had  lent  his  life  to 
his  friend,  to  stake  on  a  cast  of  the  die.  Now  that  they 
had  fairly  thrown  and  lost,  he  returned  to  his  former  judg 
ment.  But  with  the  cause  that  they  had  lost  had  gone  his 
own  future. 

He  did  not  care  so  much  for  this,  since  that  last  scene 
with  Margaret  Windsor.  What  future  was  there  for  him 
now  ?  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make  ;  he  might  as 
well  be  here  as  penned  up,  useless,  in  his  four  acres  about 
the  lodge  at  Ripon  House.  His  friends — what  friends  had 
he  ?  Dacre,  Sydney,  Featherstone — they  were  walled  up 
with  him.  And  Geoffrey,  walking  in  the  Tower  yard, 
would  look  up  to  the  scattered  windows,  and  wonder 
which  of  them  was  his  friend's  ;  and  if  he  noticed  a  dull 
red  stain  on  the  stones  at  the  base  of  the  wall,  he  thought 


1 82  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

it  was  some  old  mark,  dating  from  Cromwell  or  the  Roses. 
Still,  Geoffrey  was  a  young  man,  too  young  to  have  wholly 
learned  to  be  a  fatalist ;  but  the  more  he  thought  of 
escape,  the  more  hopeless  it  seemed.  With  a  confederate, 
a  friend  outside,  it  might  perhaps  be  possible.  But  what 
friend  had  he  left  in  the  wide  world  ?  Geoffrey  racked 
his  memory  to  think  of  one.  There  were  some  two  hun 
dred  men  he  knew  at  his  club  in  the  West  End — but  which 
one  of  these,  who  had  not  been  at  Aldershot,  would  leave 
his  snug  rubber  at  whist  for  the  Tower?  There  was 
Jawkins — if  Jawkins  could  be  brought  to  think  it  worth  his 
while.  Mr.  Windsor — the  shrewd  American  was  with  his 
daughter  in  America  ;  and  the  daughter  deemed  him  false, 
and  had  forgotten  him.  False  !  There  was  Eleanor 
Carey ;  she  had  loved  him  ;  would  she  not  seek  to  save 
him  ?  The  woman  whose  maidenhood  he  had  loved  ? 
He  had  not  heard  of  her  since  the  night  before  Aldershot ; 
but  this  was  rather  a  hopeful  sign  than  otherwise.  The 
more  Geoffrey  thought,  the  more  he  felt  assured  that  here 
was  the  one  person  in  the  world  that  might  be  trusted  to 
remember  him. 

So,  when  Geoffrey  had  been  in  prison  some  three  weeks, 
and  one  day  the  turnkey  came  and  said  that  some  one 
wished  to  see  him,  Geoffrey  thought  of  Mrs.  Carey  at 
once.  His  heart  beat  high  with  hope  as  he  followed  his 
guide  through  a  labyrinth  of  stairs  and  passages.  He  even 
forgot  to  look  closely  at  each  door,  as  he  was  used  to  do, 
to  find  some  sign  of  Dacre  or  his  friends.  Eleanor  !  was 
on  his  lips  to  cry  as  the  jailer  opened  the  door  of  a  distant 
room  and  bade  him  enter. 

In  the  centre,  by  a  table,  was  standing  an  old  man, 
dressed  in  black,  with  a  white  head  bent  well  forward  upon 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  183 

his  shoulders.  It  was  Reynolds,  no  longer  dressed  like  a 
servant,  but  disguised  in  a  suit  of  broadcloth,  such  as  was 
worn  until  recently  by  the  oldest  gentlemen.  The  old 
man  bent  still  lower,  took  Geoffrey's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Thank  God!"  said  he,  in  a  whisper,  "dear  young 
master,  you  are  alive,  at  all  events."  Reynolds  still  used 
old-fashioned  forms  of  speech. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  Geoffrey  to  be  still  called 
young.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  seen  a  century  at  least — the 
twentieth.  He  looked  at  Reynolds  with  a  slight  but  de 
cided  feeling  of  disappointment.  He  had  hoped  for  Mrs. 
Carey. 

' '  Yes,  Reynolds,  I  am  alive,  and  glad  to  see  you, ' '  he 
added,  as  he  saw  the  tears  in  the  old  man's  eyes.  "  Sit 
down."  Geoffrey  pushed  a  chair  toward  him  ;  but  the 
old  man  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  sitting  down  in  the 
presence  of  the  King.  "  And  how  is  Ripon  House  ?" 

"  Ripon  House,  your  lordship,  is  much  the  same.  I 
think  I  may  succeed  in  letting  it  to  one  of  your  lordship's 
old  tenants."  Geoffrey  looked  up,  surprised  ;  then  he 
remembered  that  by  Ripon  House  Reynolds  meant  the 
lodge.  ' '  With  your  lordship' s  permission  I  can  get  thirty 
guineas  a  year  for  it,"  Reynolds  added. 

' '  By  all  means,  Reynolds, ' '  said  Geoffrey.  '  *  But, 
Reynolds,  I  must  have  no  '  your  lordship  '  any  more. 
That  is  done  forever.  I  was  foolish  ever  to  have  consented 
to  it." 

"Yes,  your  lordship,"  replied  Reynolds,  simply.  "I 
knew  your  lordship  would  consent,  so  I  have  brought  the 
first  quarter's  rent  in  advance."  And  the  old  man  laid 
eight  five-dollar  gold  pieces  on  the  table.  Geoffrey 
grasped  his  hand. 


1 84  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

' '  Thank  you,  Reynolds, ' '  said  he.  The  old  man  was 
more  embarrassed  than  if  he  had  kissed  him. 

"  Your  lordship — your  lordship  is—"  Reynolds  stam 
mered,  and  Geoffrey  interrupted  him. 

"None  of  that,  remember;"  he  lifted  a  finger  pleas 
antly.  "  But  I  asked  you  about  Ripon  House." 

' '  The  old  castle  (it  was  not  half  so  old  as  the  lodge)  is 
shut  up,  earl, ' '  said  he.  ' '  The  American  is  in  his  own 
country. ' ' 

"  Reynolds,  do  you  know  what  became  of  the  King  ?" 

"  No,  your  lord — Earl  Brompton." 

"Or  who  it  was  that  betrayed  us?  Some  one  must 
have  carried  all  the  particulars  of  the  plan  to  Bagshaw." 

The  old  man  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 

"  Reynolds,  have  you  seen  Dacre  ?" 

The  question  was  sudden.  "  Does — does  not  your 
lordship  know — "  he  faltered.  Geoffrey  sprang  from  his 
chair. 

"They  shot  him." 

Geoffrey  sank  back  to  his  seat.  The  old  servant  walked 
to  the  window,  pulling  out  his  handkerchief.  Outside  was 
heard  the  measured  step  of  the  turnkey  pacing  to  and 
fro. 

"Reynolds,  will  you  carry  a  letter  for  me?"  said 
Geoffrey  at  last.  "  Think  before  you  answer.  You  are 
no  longer  in  my  service,  you  know.  I  can  no  longer  pay 
you." 

"  I  am  always  in  the  earl's  service,"  Reynolds  inter 
rupted. 

' '  Thank  you,  Reynolds.  The  letter  is  to  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey.  You  remember  her  ?" 

Reynolds  started.      "  Forgive  me,  earl — but  does  your 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  185 

— your  honor  know — "     The  old  man  spoke  in  much 
trouble  ;  Geoffrey  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  Earl  Brompton — but — I  once  told  a 
lie  to  you.  That  night — you  remember  that  night  when 
Sir  John  met  your  lordship  in  his  room,  and  I  said  after 
ward  there  had  been  no  one  there  ?' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Geoffrey.     ' '  What  then  ?' ' 

' '  There  was  some  one  there.  A  lady  was  there.  Mrs. 
Carey. ' ' 

A  terrible  light  broke  upon  Geoffrey.  It  was  she  that 
had  taken  the  paper  ;  it  was  she  that  was  the  traitor  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  Dacre's  death.  And  his  old  love 
for  her  had  killed  his  friend. 

"  There  is  no  one  left" — the  words  broke  from  his  lips 
with  a  sob — ' '  no  one  but  you,  Reynolds. ' '  He  groaned 
aloud  with  rage  and  sorrow  as  he  saw  the  part  this  woman 
had  played.  She  had  come  between  him  and  the  girl  he 
loved  ;  she  had  betrayed  the  loyal  cause  ;  she  had  struck 
down  Dacre,  with  her  lying  lips,  her  lovely  eyes.  And  he 
had  almost  loved  her. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  your  honor."  Reynolds  spoke 
humbly,  timidly,  as  if  his  master  blamed  him.  "  The 
young  American  lady — Miss  Windsor — before  they  went 
away,  she  desired  me  to  write  to  her/' 

Geoffrey  looked  up,  as  if  a  ray  of  light  had  entered  the 
prison  window.  "Wait,"  he  said,  simply.  The  old 
man  stood  at  the  window,  while  Geoffrey  drew  a  chair  to 
the  table,  sat  down,  and  tried  to  write.  Many  a  letter  was 
begun,  half  finished,  and  then  torn  into  fragments.  When 
at  last  a  note  was  done  and  sealed,  Geoffrey  turned  to 
Reynolds. 

You  will  send  it  to  her  ?" 


1 86  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  I  will  take  it  to  her  in  America,"  said  the  old  man  ; 
and  he  hastily  thrust  the  note  into  the  breast  of  his  coat,  as 
the  turnkey  entered.  Geoffrey  thrust  one  of  the  gold 
pieces  into  the  jailer's  hand  as  he  led  him  away. 

"  You  will  be  taken  to  Dartmoor  Prison  to-morrow," 
said  the  jailer,  as  if  in  reply.  Geoffrey  looked  over  his 
shoulder  to  see  if  Reynolds  heard  ;  but  the  old  man  was 
busy  in  buttoning  up  his  coat,  and  did  not  look  his  way. 

The  day  after  these  occurrences  the  French  mail  steamer, 
putting  in  at  Cork  Harbor,  took  on  board  several  passen 
gers.  Among  them  was  old  Reynolds.  It  was  Christmas 
week,  and  the  ship  was  full  of  Americans,  running  home 
for  the  holidays,  with  the  usual  retinue  of  English  and 
French  servants,  among  whom  Reynolds  passed  unnoticed. 
There  were  but  two  people  in  all  the  West  that  Reynolds 
cared  to  see  ;  in  Maggie  Windsor  and  her  father  the  old 
man  had  a  strange  confidence  ;  but  as  for  these  people, 
their  evident  prosperity  made  him  sorrowful,  their  wealth 
offended  him. 

As  he  sat  upon  the  deck  that  evening,  his  old  cloak 
drawn  about  his  shoulders,  a  lady  passed  up  and  down 
before  him,  arm-in-arm  with  a  gentleman  whom  he  had 
never  seen.  There  was  a  grace,  a  certain  sinuous  strength 
about  the  woman's  figure  that  was  strangely  familiar  to 
him.  He  tried  to  think  where  he  had  seen  such  a  form 
before  ;  and,  do  what  he  would,  his  memory  would  not 
stray  from  the  library  in  the  old  lodge  at  Ripon  House. 
The  man  with  her  was  middle-aged,  or  perhaps  a  little 
older  ;  he  had  a  red  beard  of  some  three  weeks'  growth, 
not  long  enough  to  hide  the  contour  of  his  fat  double 
chin.  His  small  eyes  had  a  way  of  turning  rapidly  about, 
but  not  resting  anywhere,  as  if  he  feared  a  steady  glance 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  187 

might  lead  some  one  to  recognize  him.  Reynolds  won 
dered  who  he  was. 

The  night  was  mild  for  the  season,  and  there  was  a 
bright  moon.  All  the  other  passengers  were  below  in  the 
cabins,  the  sea  was  calm,  and  the  strains  of  an  orchestra 
were  heard  from  the  great  saloon,  where  the  passengers 
were  dancing.  There  was  an  electric  light  behind  where 
Reynolds  sat,  and  pulling  the  evening  paper  from  his 
pocket  he  tried  to  read.  He  had  his  own  reasons  for  not 
caring  to  go  below  ;  apparently  so  had  the  other  two,  for 
they  still  walked  the  deck  in  front  of  him.  Once,  as 
they  passed  him,  they  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  the 
light  fell  full  upon  the  woman's  face.  It  was  Mrs. 
Carey. 

The  paper  fell  from  the  old  man's  hands.  Their  eyes 
met  for  a  moment,  then  the  woman  turned  away. 

Reynolds  was  thunderstruck.  Could  that  be  Mr.  Carey 
with  her  ?  he  thought.  He  had  never  seen  Carey,  but  he 
fancied  not.  Her  husband  must  be  a  younger  man. 
Reynolds  hoped  she  had  not  recognized  him.  He  hated 
the  woman  now  ;  he  felt  a  fear  of  her,  well  grounded,  after 
all  that  had  happened. 

For  several  days  after  this  the  weather  was  bad,  and  Mrs. 
Carey  came  on  deck  without  her  companion.  Reynolds 
avoided  her,  and  she  did  not  seem  to  notice  him.  Yet  she 
had  a  fascination  for  him,  and  he  would  slyly  watch  her 
from  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  as  one  looks  upon  some  brill 
iant  serpent.  This  was  the  woman  who  had  wrecked  his 
master's  life — who  had  betrayed  the  King.  Reynolds 
wondered  where  the  King  was  then.  He  fancied,  with 
Geoffrey,  that  he  must  be  dead. 

On  the  fourth  day  they  made  the  lightship  anchored  off 


1 88  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

the  Banks,  and  stopped  for  news  and  letters.  Reynolds 
bought  a  paper  ;  Mrs.  Carey  had  a  telegram,  which  he  saw 
her  reading  with  evident  interest.  His  newspaper,  which 
was  a  mere  resume  of  the  telegrams  received  in  the  ocean 
station,  had  a  long  despatch  about  the  so-called  meeting  at 
Aldershot.  It  said  that  George  of  Hanover  was  believed 
to  have  fled  to  America,  but  that  it  was  not  the  policy  of 
the  government  to  pursue  him. 

"  You  seem  interested  in  your  paper,  Mr.  Reynolds," 
said  a  voice  at  his  shoulder.  The  old  servant  stood  up, 
and  touched  his  hat,  from  habit.  It  was  Mrs.  Carey.  She 
was  dressed  coquettishly  in  a  sea-green  travelling  dress 
that  showed  her  beautiful  figure  at  its  best  ;  her  hair  was 
coiled  above  her  fair  neck  in  two  glossy  red-brown  bands. 
Reynolds  looked  into  her  deep  eyes  and  hated  her.  He 
cared  more  for  his  master  than  for  any  woman's  eyes. 
"  How  did  you  leave  poor  Ripon  ?' '  she  asked. 

"  My  master  is  in  Dartmoor  Prison,"  said  Reynolds, 
sadly. 

"  Your  master  is  a  crazy  fool,"  said  the  beautiful 
woman,  spitefully.  Reynolds  made  as  if  to  go,  but  she 
detained  him.  "  Why  are  you  going  to  America  ?" 

"  I  have  a  message  from  Lord  Brompton  to  the  King," 
said  Reynolds. 

For  fear  that  she  might  in  some  way  thwart  him,  he  did 
not  tell  her  his  real  errand. 

Mrs.  Carey  laughed  scornfully.  ' '  No  need  to  go  so 
far,"  said  she,  and  she  beckoned  with  her  hand.  The 
stout  man  with  the  reddish  beard  came  up,  like  some  huge, 
dull  animal  called  by  its  mistress.  His  sensuous,  fat  face 
was  pallid  with  seasickness,  and  as  he  looked  at  Mrs. 
Carey  there  was  a  senile  leer  in  his  eye. 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  189 

"  King  George,"  said  she,  <c  this  is  a  servant  of  Lord 
Brompton's." 

The  decks  were  almost  deserted,  and  no  one  was  near 
enough  to  overhear  them. 

The  old  man's  mouth  opened  ;  but  he  could  only  stare 
vacantly.  He  stammered  some,  incoherent  syllables,  and 
tried  to  bend  his  knees,  but  they  knocked  together,  trem 
bling.  He  doffed  his  hat,  and,  with  the  sea-breeze  blow 
ing  his  thin  white  hair  about  his  temples,  stood  looking  at 
the  King. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  your  master,"  said  the  man  with  the 
beard.  "  But — it  was  useless.  Was  it  not  useless,  my 
dear?"  he  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Carey. 

She  laughed  contemptuously,  but  made  no  reply,  and 
the  two  resumed  their  promenade  upon  the  deck.  Rey 
nolds  watched  them  a  long  time  sadly.  She  s.eemed  to 
have  complete  control  over  the  man,  and  Reynolds  noticed 
that  he  even  brought  her  a  footstool,  when  she  sat  upon 
her  sea-cbair  upon  the  deck.  No  one  among  the  passen 
gers  seemed  to  know  him  or  notice  him  ;  but  many  an 
admiring  glance  was  turned  upon  Mrs.  Carey.  <c  Curse 
the  jade  !"  said  Reynolds  to  himself.  Now,  indeed,  he 
saw  that  it  was  all  true,  and  felt  for  the  first  time  that  his 
master  would  never  come  back  to  Ripon  House.  But  he 
could  not  understand  it.  To  say  that  the  sun  fell  from  the 
heavens  would  be  but  3.  poor  simile  to  describe  the  effect 
this  interview  produced  on  the  old  man's  mind.  He  sat 
like  one  dazed  through  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  And  King 
George,  passing  him,  saw  the  old  man  sitting  there,  and 
felt  ashamed,  abased,  before  the  look  of  the  old  servant. 
Only  Mrs.  Carey  had  a  proud  sparkle  in  her  evil  eyes,  and 
gloated  in  spirit  at  the  message  that  the  man  would  take  to 


190  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

his  master  back  in  England.  And  when,  on  the  fifth  day, 
they  landed  in  Boston,  she  got  into  a  carriage  and  drove 
off  with  the  King,  and  Reynolds  saw  her  wave  her  jewelled 
hand  at  him  from  the  window. 

He  himself  asked  for  the  house  of  Mr.  Abraham 
Windsor.  Mr.  Windsor,  like  most  rich  Americans,  had  a 
winter  house  in  Boston,  a  plantation  in  Florida,  a  palace 
in  Mexico,  a  shooting-box  in  the  mountains  of  Montana, 
and  other  arrangements  for  circumventing  the  American 
climate  ;  and  Reynolds  was  driven  to  a  great  stone  house, 
with  court  and  gardens,  fronting  on  a  park.  He  asked  for 
Miss  Windsor ;  the  servant  looked  at  him  curiously,  but 
bade  him  wait. 

Reynolds  was  tired  with  the  voyage  and  the  bustle  and 
hurry  of  arriving  ;  and  this  great  city,  this  great  America, 
so  fine,  so  bright,  so  rich,  made  him  sad  and  depressed. 
What  likelihood  was  there,  he  thought,  that  this  gay,  luxu 
rious  American  would  think  or  care  for  his  poor  master 
over  in  Dartmoor  Jail  ?  But,  as  he  looked  up,  he  started 
with  astonishment.  Hung  upon  the  wall  was  a  water- 
color,  beautifully  done,  of  the  great  avenue  leading  up  to 
Ripon  House.  He  heard  a  rustle  at  the  door,  and,  turn 
ing  hastily  around,  he  saw  Miss  Windsor.  She  was  more 
beautiful  than  the  other,  was  his  first  thought ;  and  making 
a  step  forward,  he  bowed  humbly,  not  daring  to  take  the 
hand  she  frankly  extended  to  him.  • 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  !"  she  said,  sweetly.  "I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you  !"  This  was  well — she  remembered  him,  at  all 
events  ;  and,  therefore,  his  master. 

"  My  lady/'  said  he  respectfully,  "  I  have  made  bold  to 
bring  you  a  letter — from  England." 


THE  LAST  ROYALIST.  191 

' '  From  England  ?' '  she  said,  feigning  surprise  ;  but  a 
quick  blush  mantled  her  cheek. 

"  From  the  Tower  of  London/'  said  Reynolds,  gravely. 

"  From  the  Tower  ?"  she  cried  ;  "  is — is  your  master  in 
prison  ?' ' 

"  My  master  is  now  in  Dartmoor  Prison,  if  it  please 
you,  m^  lady,"  said  Reynolds.  "  He  was  sentenced  for 
fifteen  years — for  trying  to  serve  the  King. ' ' 

He  drew  forth  the  letter,  carefully  wrapped  in  a  double 
envelope.  She  took  it  from  him  quickly,  and  tore  the 
covering  open.  This  is  what  she  read  : 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  WINDSOR  :  When  I  see  you  again — as  I  hope, 
if  the  fates  so  will,  I  may — you,  I  hope,  will  be  married,  and  I 
shall  be  getting  to  be  an  old  man.  Fifteen  years  is  much  to  take 
from  the  sunny  part  of  a  man's  life  ;  and  I  can  hardly  look  for 
much  but  shadow  after  that.  I  have  thought  much  of  you,  since 
I  have  been  here,  and  of  our  last  meeting.  And  I  have  but  one 
thing  to  tell  you— what,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been  better  for 
me  to  have  told  you  long  since — and  to  ask  for  your  forgiveness 
for  myself.  I  should  not  like  to  think  that  you  were  thinking  ill 
of  me,  all  these  years  that  I  am  to  stay  within  these  walls. 

"  Eleanor  Carey — at  whose  feet,  as  I  now  know,  you  must 
have  seen  me  that  day  at  Chichester — was  the  woman  I  loved 
when  she  was  a  young  girl,  beautiful,  as  you  know  ;  lovely,  as  I 
then  thought.  She  was  Eleanor  Leigh  then.  Eleanor  Carey 
pretended  on  that  day  that  she  had  never  ceased  to  love  me.  My 
noble  friend  John  Dacre  had  formed  a  plot  to  restore  the  King  of 
England,  and  this  woman  was  one  of  us.  It  was  she  who  made 
a  breach  between  us  that  day.  It  was  she  who  went  the  morning 
before  to  my  house,  and,  overhearing  Dacre's  talk  to  me,  stole  a 
paper  containing  the  names  and  plan  of  our  conspiracy.  It  was 
she  who  of  all  our  friends  was  the  only  traitor.  She  murdered 
my  dear  friend  as  truly  as  if  it  had  been  her  hand  that  dealt  the 
blow.  He  was  shot  in  the  Tower  court  below  here,  with  his  back 
to  the  wall,  by  a  company  of  soldiers.  And,  as  I  now  believe,  it 


192  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

was  Eleanor  Carey  who  in  some  way  met  the  King,  and  kept  him 
from  us  on  that  day. 

"  I  tell  you  all  this  that  you  may  believe,  in  spite  of  all  you 
may  have  seen  that  day  at  Chichester,  Eleanor  Carey  is  not  the 
woman  I  love.  You  did  not  believe  this  at  Ripon  House.  Mar 
garet,  will  you  believe  it  now  ? 

"  Yours,  forever, 

"  GEOFFREY  RIPON." 

"  Fifteen  years  !"  said  Maggie,  meditatively,  after  she 
had  read  the  letter,  with  varying  waves  of  white  and  red  in 
her  face,  not  unremarked  by  Reynolds,  as  he  stood  with 
his  hat  in  his  two  hands. 

"  Fifteen  years  !     Papa!" 

The  door  of  an  adjoining  room  opened,  and  Mr. 
Windsor  appeared. 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"  Papa,  this  is  Mr.  Reynolds." 

"Mr.  Reynolds,  I  am  very  happy  to  make  your  ac 
quaintance. " 

"  Mr.  Reynolds  was  Lord  Brompton's  servant — at 
Ripon,  you  remember?" 

"  Oh  !   Reynolds,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  That  will  do,  Reynolds  ;  you  can  go." 

"  Papa,  I  have  a  commission  for  you  in  England." 

Reynolds' s  face  fell.  "  Any — any  message  for  my  mas 
ter,  my  lady  ?" 

"  No.  Oh — stop — yes.  You  may  tell  him,"  said 
Maggie,  with  a  heightened  color,  smiling,  "  you  may  tell 
him  I  am  about  to  be  married." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LOVE    LAUGHS   AT    LOCKSMITHS. 

IN  the  centre  of  its  wide  waste  of  barren  hills,  huge 
granite  outcroppings  and  swampy  valleys,  the  gloomy 
prison  of  Dartmoor  stood  wrapped  in  mist  one  dismal 
morning  in  the  March  following  the  Royalist  outbreak. 
Its  two  centuries  of  unloved  existence  in  the  midst  of  a 
wild  land  and  fitful  climate  had  seared  every  wall-tower 
and  gateway  with  lines  and  patches  of  decay  and  discolora 
tion.  Originally  built  of  brown  stone,  the  years  had  deep 
ened  the  tint  almost  to  blackness  in  the  larger  stretches  of 
outer  wall  and  unwindowed  gable. 

On  this  morning  the  dark  walls  dripped  with  the  weep 
ing  atmosphere,  and  the  voice  of  the  huge  prison  bell  in 
the  main  yard  sounded  distant  and  strange  like  a  storm- 
bell  in  a  fog  at  sea. 

Through  the  thick  drizzle  of  the  early  morning  the  con 
victs  were  marched  in  gangs  to  their  daily  tasks,  some  to 
build  new  walls  within  the  prison  precincts,  some  to  break 
stone  in  the  round  yard,  encircled  by  enormous  iron  rail 
ings  fifteen  feet  high,  some  to  the  great  kitchen  of  the 
prison  and  to  the  different  workshops.  About  one  third 
of  the  prisoners  marched  outside  the  walls  by  the  lower 
entrance,  for  the  prison  stands  on  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of 


194  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

which  stretches  the  most  forsaken  and  grisly  waste  in  all 
Dartmoor. 

The  task  of  the  convicts  for  two  hundred  years  had  been 
the  reclamation  of  this  wide  waste,  which  was  called  '*  The 
Farm."  The  French  prisoners  of  war  taken  in  the  Napo 
leonic  wars  that  ended  with  Waterloo  had  dug  trenches  to 
drain  the  waste.  The  American  prisoners  of  the  War  of 
1812  had  laid  roadways  through  the  marsh.  The  Irish 
rebels  of  six  generations  had  toiled  in  the  tear-scalded  foot, 
steps  of  the  French  and  American  captives.  And  all  the 
time  the  main  or  "stock"  supply  of  English  criminals, 
numbering  usually  about  four  hundred  men,  had  spent 
their  weary  years  in  toiling  and  broiling  at  "  The  Farm." 

Standing  at  the  lower  gate  of  the  prison,  from  which  a 
steep  road  descended  to  the  marsh  looking  over  "  The 
Farm/'  it  was  hard  to  see  anything  like  a  fair  return  for 
such  continued  and  patient  labor.  Deep  trenches  filled 
with  claret-colored  water  drained  innumerable  patches  of 
sickly  vegetation.  About  a  hundred  stunted  fruit  trees  and 
as  many  bedraggled  haystacks  were  all  that  broke  the  sur 
face  line. 

As  the  gangs  of  convicts,  numbering  about  twenty  each, 
marched  out  of  the  lower  gate  on  this  dull  morning,  they 
turned  their  eyes,  each  gang  in  the  same  surprised  way  as 
that  which  preceded,  on  a  small  group  of  men  who  were 
working  just  outside  the  prison  wall. 

To  the  left  of  the  gate,  on  the  sloping  side  of  the  hill, 
was  a  quadrangular  space  of  about  thirty  by  twenty  yards, 
round  which  was  built  a  low  wall  of  evidently  great  an 
tiquity.  The  few  courses  of  stones  were  huge  granite 
boulders  and  slabs  torn  and  rolled  from  the  hillside. 
There  was  no  gateway  or  break  in  the  square  ;  to  enter 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS,  195 

the  inclosure   one  must  climb  over  the  wall,  which  was 
easy  enough  to  do. 

Inside  the  square  was  a  rough  heap  of  granite,  a  cairn, 
gray  with  lichens,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood,  or  rather 
leaned,  a  tall  square  block  of  granite,  like  a  dolmen.  So 
great  was  the  age  of  this  strange  obelisk  that  the  lichens 
had  encrusted  it  to  the  top.  The  stone  had  once  stood 
upright ;  but  it  now  leaned  toward  the  marsh,  the  cairn 
having  slowly  yielded  on  the  lower  side. 

Around  this  ancient  monument  were  working  four 
men  in  the  gray  and  black  tweed  of  the  convicts  ;  and  it 
was  at  their  presence  that  the  gangs  had  stared  as  they 
passed. 

One  of  these  four  men  was  young,  one  middle-aged,  and 
two  well  down  the  hill  of  life,  the  oldest  being  a  tall  and 
emaciated  old  man  of  at  least  seventy  years.  They  were 
four  political  prisoners — namely,  Geoffrey  Ripon,  Feather- 
stone,  Sydney,  and  the  old  Duke  of  Bays  water.  There 
was  a  warder  in  charge,  who  addressed  them  by  numbers 
instead  of  names.  He  called  Geoffrey  "  406  ;"  Feather- 
stone,  "28;"  Sydney,  "No.  5,"  and  the  old  Duke, 
"  1 6."  The  prisoners  recognized  their  numbers  as 
quickly  as  free  workmen  would  have  answered  to  their 
names. 

"  No.  5,"  said  the  Warder,  sharply,  a  bearded  man, 
with  the  bearing  of  an  old  infantry  soldier,  "  you  must 
put  more  life  into  your  work.  You  have  been  fooling 
around  that  stone  for  the  last  ten  minutes." 

"  No.  5"  raised  himself  from  the  bending  posture  in 
which  he  had  been,  and  looked  at  the  officer  with  a  gentle 
reproach. 

"  It  is  a  heavy  stone,  and  I  have  been  thinking  how  it 


196  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

can  be  moved/'  said  "No.  5,"  and  he  smiled  at  the 
officer.  He  was  not  the  Sydney  of  old,  but  a  woe-begone 
creature,  obviously  sixty  years  of  age,  on  whose  thin  frame 
the  gray  clothes  hung  in  loose  folds. 

The  officer  thought  "  No.  5  "  was  making  fun  of  him, 
and  he  became  angry. 

"  No  use  thinking,"  he  shouted  ;   "  move  the  stone." 

"  No.  5  "  tried  again,  but  his  starveling  strength  could 
not  shake  a  tenth  of  its  weight. 

"  Here,  you,  16,"  cried  the  officer  to  the  old  Duke; 
' '  bear  a  hand  here.  Your  mate  says  he  can' t  move  that 
stone." 

"  No.  1 6"  and  "  No.  5"  applied  their  united  force  to 
the  stone,  but  it  remained  as  before.  The  two  poor  old 
fellows  regarded  it  with  perplexity  while  furtively  watching 
the  officer.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  expression  of  simu 
lated  mortification  on  their  faces,  which  was  meant  to 
placate  the  Warder. 

"  Let  me  assist  them,"  said  Geoffrey  to  the  officer,  and 
he  got  a  good  ' '  purchase' '  on  the  block  and  easily  heaved 
it  from  its  bed. 

"  No.  1 6,"  the  old  Duke,  bowed  his  thanks,  and 
"  No.  5"  pressed  Geoffrey's  hand.  The  officer,  more 
rough  than  cruel,  turned  away  to  hide  a  smile  at  the  cour 
tesies  of  his  charge.  Soon  after,  he  gave  them  instructions 
about  the  work,  and  left  them,  going  down  to  "  The 
Farm"  to  superintend  the  making  of  a  new  drain. 

"  This  is  heavy  work,  Duke,"  said  Geoffrey  to  the  old 
man  ;  ' '  but  we  ought  to  be  thankful  for  the  sentiment 
which  sends  us  to  do  it  instead  of  the  criminals." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  Duke,  in  a  desponding  tone  ; 
"  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  think  that  after  a  century  and  a 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.          197 

half  the  tomb  of  political  prisoners  in  Dartmoor  should  be 
repaired  by  the  hands  of  political  prisoners." 

"  Not  pleasant,  but  natural,  Duke,"  said  Mr.  Sydney; 
"  so  long  as  there  are  principles,  there  must  be  men  to 
suffer  for  them. ' ' 

"  Whose  monument  is  this  ?"  asked  Featherstone  ;  "  I 
am  all  in  the  dark — tell  me." 

Geoffrey,  who  had  been  employed  in  the  office  of  the 
Governor  of  the  prison,  and  who  had,  on  hearing  this  old 
monument  was  to  be  repaired,  volunteered  on  behalf  of  the 
three  others  to  do  the  work,  now  told  the  story  of  the  old 
monument  as  he  had  learned  it  from  the  prison  records 
which  he  had  been  transcribing. 

* '  In  the  wars  of  the  Great  Napoleon, ' '  Geoffrey  said, 
"  the  French  prisoners  captured  by  England  were  confined 
in  hulks  on  the  seacoast  till  the  hulks  overflowed.  Then 
this  prison  was  built,  and  filled  with  unfortunate  French 
men.  In  1812  the  young  Republic  of  America  went  to 
war  with  England,  and  hundreds  of  American  captives 
were  added  to  the  Frenchmen.  During  the  years  of  their 
confinement  scores  of  these  poor  fellows  died,  and  one  day 
the  Americans  mutinied,  and  then  other  scores  were  shot 
down  in  the  main  yard.  This  field  was  the  graveyard  of 
those  prisoners,  and  here  the  strangers  slept  for  over  half  a 
century,  till  their  bones  were  washed  out  of  the  hillside  by 
the  rain-storms.  There  happened  to  be  in  Dartmoor  at  that 
time  a  party  of  Irish  rebels,  and  they  asked  permission  to 
collect  the  bones  and  bury  them  securely.  The  Irishmen 
raised  this  cairn  and  obelisk  to  the  Americans  and  French 
men,  and  now,  after  another  hundred  years,  we  are  sent  to 
repair  their  loving  testimonial. ' ' 

'  *  It  is  an  interesting  story, ' '  said  Featherstone. 


198  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  A  sad  story  for  old  men,"  said  the  Duke. 

* '  A  brave  story  for  boys, ' '  said  Mr.  Sydney  ;  "  I  could 
lift  this  obelisk  itself  for  sympathy. ' ' 

They  went  on,  working  and  chatting  in  low  tones,  till  an 
exclamation  from  Sydney  made  them  look  up.  Sydney 
was  on  top  of  the  cairn,  scraping  the  lichens  from  the 
obelisk.  The  moss  was  hard  to  cut,  and  had  formed  a 
crust,  layer  on  layer,  half  an  inch  in  thickness. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear  Sydney  ?"  asked  the  Duke. 

"An  inscription!"  cried  Sydney,  scraping  away, 
' '  An  inscription  nearly  a  hundred  years  old.  I  have  un 
covered  the  year — see,  1867." 

"  Ay, "  said  Geoffrey,  "  that  was  the  year  the  Irish  were 
here." 

Featherstone  had  gone  to  Sydney's  assistance,  and  with 
the  aid  of  a  sharp  flint  soon  uncovered  the  whole  inscrip 
tion.  It  ran  thus  : 


SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE 

FRENCH    AND   AMERICAN    PRISONERS 

OF   WAR, 

Who  Died  in  Dartmoor  Prison  during  the 
Years  1811-16. 

Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori. 


Underneath  were  the  words,  "  Erected  1867." 
Very  tender  and  true  was  the  touch  of  nature  that  made 
these  four  prisoners,  now  looking  at  the  ancient  letters, 
akin  with  those  who  slept  below,  and  with  those  who  had 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.  199 

so  lovingly  preserved  their  memory.-  The  sudden  uncover 
ing  of  the  inscription  seemed  to  give  a  talismanic  value  to 
the  words.  The  centuries  cleared  away  like  the  mist  from 
the  moor,  and  the  four  Royalist  prisoners  saw  the  brave 
Americans  carry  their  dead  comrades  to  their  English 
grave  ;  they  saw  their  set  faces  as  they  faced  the  armed 
guards  and  invited  their  own  destruction  ;  they  saw  the 
Frenchmen  who  had  followed  Napoleon  from  Egypt  to 
Waterlog  laid  here  by  their  younger  fellows  who  still 
dreamt  of  future  glory  under  their  world -conquering  Em 
peror.  And  when  all  this  phastasma  cleared  away  came 
another  picture  of  the  Celtic  patriots  raising  the  cairn  and 
cutting  the  sweet  old  Roman  words  on  the  monolith. 

"  May  they  rest  in  peace  !"  said  the  old  Duke,  taking 
off  his  convict's  cap. 

1  *  Amen  ! ' '  said  Sydney. 

"  How  this  day's  work  would  have  suited  John  Dacre, " 
said  Featherstone  with  a  deep  sigh  ;  and  the  name  brought 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  four  prisoners,  who  went  on  with 
their  labor  in  silence. 

But  interesting  as  was  this  employment  to  the  Royalists, 
it  was  on  quite  another  account  that  Geoffrey  had,  while 
acting  as  clerk  in  the  Governor's  office,  secured  this  work 
for  them.  The  truth  was  that  he  expected  to  hear  from 
friends  outside  who  might  help  them  to  escape.  A  letter 
which  he  had  received  from  his  old  servant  Reynolds  had 
puzzled  him  exceedingly  with  its  repeated  regrets  for  the 
difficulty  of  getting  admission  to  the  prison.  But  at  last 
the  idea  struck  Geoffrey  that  Reynolds  was  hinting  that  he 
should  seek  employment  outside  the  walls.  The  restora 
tion  of  the  old  monument  soon  gave  the  opportunity,  and 
Geoffrey  had  seized  it. 


200  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

He  had  said  nothing  of  all  this  to  the  others  ;  for  he 
might  have  quite  misinterpreted  Reynolds's  letter,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  raise  vain  hopes.  There  was  not  the  least 
sign  as  yet  that  he  had  been  right.  The  old  high-road 
across  Dartmoor,  it  is  true,  passed  the  spot  at  which  they 
were  working,  skirting  the  very  prison  wall  ;  but  it  was  an 
empty  and  desolate  path. 

That  day  and  the  next  they  labored  at  the  cairn,  until 
at  last  the  stones  were  sufficiently  removed  to  allow  the 
monolith  to  be  raised  by  a  derrick  into  an  upright  posi 
tion.  They  had  just  rigged  the  derrick  and  the  old  Duke 
and  Mr.  Sydney  were  standing  at  the  wheel  ready  to  turn, 
while  Geoffrey  and  Featherstone  mounted  the  cairn  to 
arrange  the  rope.  The  Warder  sat  on  the  low  wall  with 
his  back  to  the  road  and  the  prison. 

As  they  stood  on  the  cairn,  Featherstone  saw  an  old 
man  on  the  road  driving  a  donkey-cart.  The  harness  had 
given  way,  and  the  old  man  was  busy  repairing  it,  standing 
behind  the  Warder.  Something  in  the  old  man's  attitude 
rather  than  appearance  induced  Featherstone  to  look  at 
him  again.  His  raised  hand  seemed  to  purposely  arrest 
attention. 

Featherstone  looked  too  long  and  too  sharply,  for  the 
Warder  observed  him,  and  turned  to  see  what  he  looked 
at.  The  old  man  on  the  road  saw  the  motion,  and,  in 
stantly  dropping  his  hand,  went  on  with  his  mending, 
meanwhile  addressing  the  donkey  with  reproving  words. 

The  Warder  looked  for  a  moment,  then  turned  his  at 
tention  to  the  workers  at  the  cairn. 

"  Heave  on  that  handle,  you,  No.  5  ;  don't  let  your 
mate  do  all  the  work.  Come,  now — heave  !" 

And  the  two  decrepit  old  men  "heaved,"   as  he  called 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.          201 

turning  the  handle  of  the  windlass,  until  their  old  joints 
cracked. 

"That'll  do;  slack  away!"  and  they  rested  panting, 
while  the  rope  was  fixed  for  another  grip. 

"  Geoffrey,"  whispered  Featherstone,  with  his  head  bent 
beside  the  stone,  "  look  at  that  old  fellow  on  the  road.  I 
am  sure  he  made  a  signal  to  me,  and  stopped  when  he 
saw  the  Warder  looking." 

When  Geoffrey  had  arranged  the  rope  he  looked  toward 
the  road,  and  almost  shouted  with  joy  and  surprise  to  see 
faithful  old  Reynolds,  with  both  hands  raised  in  recogni 
tion  and  a  wide  smile  on  his  honest  face.  Fortunately  the 
Warder  was  at  the  moment  encouraging  the  Duke  and 
Sydney  to  "  heave"  on  the  wheel. 

Geoffrey  quickly  recovered,  and  turned  his  attention  to 
the  rope. 

' '  Try  and  find  what  he  wants, ' '  he  whispered  to  Feather- 
stone.  "  It  is  my  old  Reynolds.  Careful  !" 

While  he  whispered  there  was  a  crash  on  the  road  that 
made  the  whole  group  start.  The  harness  had  wholly 
given  way  and  the  shafts  had  come  to  the  ground. 

The  old  driver  was  in  a  sad  plight,  and  he  looked  help 
lessly  at  the  wreck  of  his  team.  He  turned  wistfully  to  the 
Warder  and  asked  him  to  send  one  of  the  prisoners  to  his  aid. 

"Here,  you,  No.  16,"  shouted  the  Warder  to  the 
Duke  ;  "  lend  a  hand  here  on  the  road  ;  look  alive, 
now. ' '  The  old  man  went  toward  the  wall,  as  if  nothing 
could  surprise  him,  no  indignity  arouse  a  spark  of  resent 
ment.  He  tried  to  hurry  to  win  the  Warder's  approba 
tion  ;  but  in  doing  so  he  stumbled  in  climbing  the  low 
wall,  upon  which  he  turned  to  the  officer  with  a  look  of 
apology. 


202  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Geoffrey  took  advantage  of  this  moment  to  offer  his  ser 
vices.  He  leaped  from  the  cairn,  and  asked  the  Warder 
to  let  him  take  the  place  of  the  old  man. 

"All  right— go  along.  Here,  you,  No.  16,  scramble 
back  to  your  work.  If  you  don't  look  out  you'll  lose 
your  good-conduct  marks." 

Mr.  Sydney  gave  the  Duke  a  look  of  sympathy  and  a 
smile  of  cheer  as  he  took  his  place  on  the  windlass  again, 
and  Featherstone  looked  down  from  the  cairn  at  both  his 
old  friends  with  actual  tears  in  his  eyes. 

Meanwhile  Geoffrey  had  gone  out  to  Reynolds,  and  in 
bending  to  the  shaft  gave  the  old  man's  hand  a  grip  of  wel 
come  and  gratitude.  Reynolds  moved  to  the  other  side 
of  the  cart,  and  stooping  out  of  sight  of  the  Warder  took  a 
letter  from  his  pocket  and  showed  it  to  Geoffrey.  Feather- 
stone,  from  the  top  of  the  cairn,  saw  the  movement  and 
made  a  brilliant  stroke. 

"  Look  out,  down  there  !"  he  shouted  to  the  old  men, 
"  my  hand  is  caught  in  the  bight  !" 

There  was  a  brief  excitement  in  which  the  Warder 
joined,  while  Featherstone  played  his  part  to  the  life. 
When  it  had  passed  the  cart  was  raised,  and  Geoffrey  had 
the  letter  in  his  stocking. 

Reynolds  gave  Geoffrey  a  look  that  was  better  than 
words,  and  then  he  thanked  the  Warder  and  went  off  with 
his  donkey. 

"  Bravo  !"  whispered  Featherstone  as  Geoffrey  joined 
him  ;  "  that  was  done  in  a  way  to  make  the  professionals 
envious." 

For  the  rest  of  the  day  Geoffrey  felt  like  a  man  made  of 
India  rubber.  He  leaped  up  and  down  the  cairn  like  a 
boy,  and  he  whispered  all  kinds  of  encouraging  words  to 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.  203 

the  old  men  at  the  wheel.  He  felt  the  letter  in  his  stock 
ing  all  the  time,  and  wondered  why  he  could  not  read  it  by 
very  insight.  He  turned  a  hundred  times  in  alarm  to  see 
if  the  Warder's  eyes  were  on  its  hiding-place.  Who  had 
written  it  ?  Was  it  a. plan  of  escape  ?  Perhaps  it  was  only 
a  word  of  empty  sympathy  ;  but  no,  Reynolds  was  a  prac 
tical  man. 

Oh,  how  long  the  hours  were,  till  at  last  the  prison-bell 
rang  at  six  o'clock,  and  the  gangs  all  over  the  farm  formed 
into  little  squads  and  marched  toward  the  prison,  the 
warders  drawing  after  them  the  light  iron  bridges  of  the 
canals,  which  were  locked  on  one  side  every  night.  By 
this  means  ' '  The  Farm, ' '  which  was  intersected  by  a  score 
of  these  wide  and  deep  trenches,  was  impassable  ;  and  as  it 
hemmed  in  one  side  of  the  hill  on  which  the  prison  stood, 
with  a  guard  tower  on  either  end,  it  was  a  greater  safe 
guard  even  than  the  wall  of  the  prison. 

The  four  political  prisoners  marched  into  the  yard. 
The  Warder,  before  locking  them  up,  made  each  one  raise 
his  arms  and  stand  to  be  searched.  He  then  ran  his  hands 
lengthwise  over  the  whole  man,  mainly  to  see  that  no 
weapons  or  tools  were  concealed.  As  his  hand  passed  over 
the  letter  in  the  stocking  Geoffrey  closed  his  eyes  in  the 
tense  pain  of  anxiety.  He  did  not  breathe  till  he  stood  in 
his  narrow  cell  and  had  closed  the  self-locking  door  with  a 
bang.  Then  he  sat  down  on  his  hammock  and  hugged 
himself  with  joy. 

When  all  was  quiet  on  the  long  corridor  and  the  prison 
ers  were  eating  their  meagre  supper  Geoffrey  drew  out  his 
letter  and  broke  the  outer  cover.  It  was  addressed  in  a 
hand  he  had  never  seen  before — a  plain,  business-like 
hand  : 


204  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  To  Mr.  Geoffrey  Ripon,  or  any  of  the  Royalist  pris 
oners." 

"  No  more  titles,"  mused  Geoffrey  with  a  smile  ; 
"  there  is  something  American  in  the  *  Mr.'  ' 

This  thought  naturally  led  him  to  think  of  one  in 
America  whose  handwriting  he  had  blindly  and  unreason 
ably  hoped  to  see  in  this  letter.  Now,  with  a  sigh,  he  saw 
that  it  was  not  for  him  alone,  but  for  "  any  of  the  Royalist 
prisoners"  as  well. 

The  letter  was  written  on  small  sheets,  joined  at  the  top 
by  a  thin  brass  holder.  From  the  first  word  it  was  a  plan 
to  escape  from  Dartmoor  and  from  England.  It  showed 
that  everything  had  been  carefully  examined  and  considered 
by  those  outside  before  they  had  attempted  to  communi 
cate  with  the  prisoners  ;  and  all  that  remained  must  be 
done  by  those  within  the  prison.  The  letter  ran  thus  : 

"  We  have  arranged  everything  but  your  actual  getting  out  of 
the  prison  and  crossing  the  marsh  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  ['  The 
Farm '  was  here  meant.]  This  marsh  extends  between  two 
guard  towers,  and  is  nine  hundred  yards  long.  It  cannot  be 
crossed  at  night,  for  the  warders  withdraw  and  lock  on  the  prison 
side  the  swinging  bridges  of  the  numerous  canals.  These  canals 
are  seven  feet  deep  and  fourteen  wide,  and  the  banks  are  soft 
peat.  It  would  be  dangerous  to  try  to  swim  them.  You  must 
procure  a  long  plank  or  beam,  and  carry  it  from  trench  to  trench. 
You  can  get  such  a  plank,  which  two  men  can  carry  easily,  at  the 
new  tool-shed  which  the  convicts  are  building  against  the  outer 
wall  of  the  prison  to  the  right  of  the  lower  gate. 

"  We  cannot  do  anything  to  help  you  out  of  the  prison  till  we 
hear  from  you.  You  must  escape  by  the  lower  side  of  the  prison 
and  cross  the  marsh,  for  the  town  and  warders'  quarters  extend 
on  the  other  three  sides.  In  the  old  tool-shed  against  the  outer 
lower  wall,  where  you  leave  your  tools  every  evening,  there  is  a 
small  portable  steam-engine.  Place  your  answer  inside  the  fur- 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.          205 

nace  door,  to  the  right,  and  search  there  every  morning  for  our 
messages.  You  need  not  grope  around.  Put  your  hand  to  the 
right  corner  of  the  furnace,  and  our  parcel  will  be  there.  In  case 
you  can  get  out  without  our  help,  here  are  complete  instructions  : 
*'  When  you  have  crossed  the  marsh,  keep  straight  on  across  the 
hill,  at  the  foot  of  which,  a  mile  from  the  prison,  there  is  a  narrow 
lane.  Keep  to  the  right  on  this  lane  till  you  come  to  the  high 
road.  Half  a  mile  down  this  road  to  the  left  stands  a  cottage 
with  a  ploughed  field  behind.  Go  boldly  into  this  house  day  or 
night;  the  door  will  be  left  open, .though  latched.  Once  inside 
the  cottage,  unseen  by  the  guards,  you  are  safe.  Trust  implicitly 
on  us  for  anything  else." 

Geoffrey  read  the  letter  many  times  before  he  turned  to 
his  miserable  supper  of  dry  bread  and  cocoa.  He  im 
pressed  every  detail  on  his  mind  so  that  the  writing  might 
be  destroyed.  Then  he  began  to  eat  and  think  together, 
and  it  was  nearly  morning  before  the  thinking  ceased.  In 
his  mind  he  must  settle  every  difficulty,  foresee  and  circum 
vent  every  danger  before  he  made  a  move.  Were  it  only 
his  own  peril  he  were  considering  he  would  have  had  small 
anxiety.  But  now  he  felt  on  himself  the  burden  of  the 
lives  of  his  three  friends,  who  would  undoubtedly  attempt 
to  carry  out  his  arrangements.  At  last  he  fell  asleep,  and 
it  seemed  that  the  vile  roar  of  the  waking  bell  began  a  few 
minutes  later. 

In  the  morning  Geoffrey  sat  face  to  face  with  the  first 
and  least  of  his  difficulties  :  he  had  no  means  of  writing  to 
his  unknown  friends.  But  the  mind  springs  to  experiment 
when  it  is  left  alone.  In  a  minute  he  had  paper,  pen,  and 
ink,  and,  stretched  on  the  floor,  with  his  only  book,  the 
prison  Bible,  for  a  desk,  he  was  writing  his  answer. 

The  ink  was  on  the  floor,  composed  of  the  asphalt  dust 
of  which  the  floor  was  made.  He  had  swept  it  into  a  little 


206  THE  KING'S  MEN, 

heap  with  his  hard  floor-brush,  and  mixed  it  with  water 
from  his  washing  basin.  His  pen  was  the  wire-twisted  end 
of  his  leathern  boot-lace  ;  and  his  paper,  whole  leaves  care 
fully  torn  from  the  Bible,  across  the  small  type  of  which  he 
wrote  in  heavy  letters  as  follows  : 

' '  We  cannot  possibly  escape  from  within  the  prison.  Our  cells 
are  on  the  third  tier,  opening  into  the  prison,  and  two  of  our  friends 
are  old  and  infirm.  We  must  escape  from  the  guards  while  em 
ployed  outside  the  walls,  conceal  ourselves  till  night,  and  then 
follow  your  instructions.  To-day  we  shall  begin  our  prepara 
tions.  We  cannot  tell  how  soon  we  may  make  the  attempt,  or 
how  long  we  shall  have  to  wait.  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays  are 
the  only  days  on  which  it  can  be  done  ;  and  we  must  wait  for  a 
very  rainy  or  foggy  evening  on  one  of  those  days.  The  present 
weather  is  in  our  favor,  so  do  not  leave  the  cottage  empty  day  or 
night  for  a  few  weeks." 

Geoffrey  concealed  his  letter,  ate  his  breakfast  when  the 
six  o'clock  bell  rang,  and  the  bolts  of  five  hundred  cells 
shot  back  by  one  mighty  stroke  of  a  steam  piston-rod,  he 
paraded  with  his  companions,  and  the  four  were  marched 
off  to  their  work  at  the  monument. 

Sydney  and  the  Duke  walked  together  in  rear  of  Geoffrey 
and  Featherstone.  The  Duke,  in  order  to  keep  up  with 
the  regulation  pace,  secretly  clung  to  Sydney's  arm,  which 
he  dropped  when  the  officer  looked  round  and  took  again 
when  the  danger  had  passed. 

When  they  came  to  the  tool-shed,  the  prisoners  went  in 
one  by  one  for  their  tools,  which  were  piled  up  and  taken 
away  day  after  day,  by  the  same  men  in  the  same  order. 
The  portable  steam-engine  was  to  the  left  of  the  'door. 
Geoffrey  went  straight  to  it,  opened  the  furnace  door,  and 
left  his  letter. 

A  few  minutes   later,   when   they  were  on  the  cairn, 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.          207 

• 

Featherstone' s  anxiety  spoke  in  his  eyes,  and  Geoffrey  told 
him  the  whole  story,  in  a  whisper,  as  they  walked. 

"  Can  it  be  done  ?"  asked  Featherstone. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.     At  any  rate,  we  must  try." 

"  What  is  your  plan?" 

' '  We  must  escape  from  the  guards  outside  the  prison, ' ' 
said  Geoffrey,  looking  down  at  Sydney  and  the  Duke,  who 
were  doing  cyclopean  work  under  the  eye  of  the  Warder. 
"  Those  two  could  never  escape  from  the  cells,  nor  climb 
the  walls  if  they  did." 

"  True,"  answered  Featherstone,  with  a  despondent 
manner  ;  "  but  we  are  no  nearer  freedom  than  ever,  if  we 
have  no  definite  plan." 

"  I  have  a  definite  plan,"  said  Geoffrey,  "  and  I  think 
a  good  one.  We  must  remain  outside  some  evening  when 
the  convicts  march  in.  On  every  evening  but  Wednesday 
and  Saturday  we  go  straight  to  our  cells  when  we  go  in 
from  work,  and  we  close  our  own  doors,  so  that  if  we  re 
mained  outside  on  any  evening  but  those  two  we  should  be 
instantly  missed.  On  Wednesday  and  Saturday  evenings 
the  prisoners  are  taken  off  work  one  hour  earlier  and  are 
sent  to  school.  We  want  at  least  an  hour's  start  for  the 
sake  of  those  two  ;  you  and  I  could  do  with  half  the  time. 
Therefore  we  must  remain  behind  on  one  of  those  two 
days. ' ' 

"But  how?"  asked  Featherstone,  impatiently.  "The 
Warder  walks  beside  us." 

"  We  must  manage  to  send  him  off  or  have  him  called 
away,"  answered  Geoffrey.  "  Can  it  be  done  ?" 

Featherstone  did  not  answer.  He  went  on  working  ; 
he  even  spoke  about  other  things,  as  if  he  had  not  heard 
Geoffrey's  question.  In  about  half  an  hour  he  said  : 


208  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  I  think  it  cannot  be  done.     What  do  you  think  ?' 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Geoffrey. 

"  So  that,  even  with  our  friends  waiting  for  us,  we  are 
tied  hand  and  foot. ' ' 

"  No,"  said  Geoffrey,  with  a  smile  at  his  friend's 
gloom  ;  "  but  that  is  just  what  the  Warder  must  say." 

"  What !  Seize  him  and  tie  him  up?"  asked  Feather- 
stone,  with  a  flash  in  his  eyes  that  made  the  shaven  prisoner 
a  soldier  again.  '*  Bravo,  Ripon  !  It  can  be  done. 
What  a  mole  I  am." 

"  Do  you  think  it  can  be  managed  without  hurting  the 
poor  devil  ?  With  all  his  loud  talk  he  has  been  kind  to 
those  two  old  friends.  Just  look  at  them  now,  pretending 
to  turn  that  wheel,  with  no  rope  on  the  windlass,  and  he 
looking  on  !  I  don't  want  to  harm  him,  Feather- 
stone." 

"  No,  nor  I.  But  we  can  take  him  gently  and  swiftly 
and  gag  him.  That  won't  hurt  him,  will  it  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  should  he  make  a  noise  ?" 

"  Trust  me,  Ripon  ;  I  could  strangle  him  with  one 
hand.  I  shall  simply  hold  him  by  the  throat  while  Sydney 
gags  him,  you  tie  his  hands,  and  the  Duke  his  feet.  We 
shall  do  it  any  day  or  hour  that  you  give  the  word. " 

The  friends'  hands  met  as  they  bent  over  the  mono 
lith,  and  Featherstone,  perhaps  to  show  Geoffrey  what  he 
could  do,  almost  crushed  his  hand  in  a  giant  grip. 

4  *  Now,  tell  Sydney  and  the  Duke  as  soon  as  you  can. 
To-morrow  is  our  first  day  of  opportunity,  and  we  must  be 
ready.  Should  it  rain  heavily  or  should  the  mist  hang,  we 
shall  take  our  chance.  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  secure  the 
Warder  just  as  the  five  o'clock  bell  rings,  and  lie  down 
over  there  inside  the  wall  of  this  little  yard.  No  one  ever 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.          209 

looks  over.  They  will  think  as  they  pass  from  the  farm 
that  we  have  marched  in  as  usual. ' ' 

Before  night  Featherstone  had  told  the  Duke  and 
Sydney,  and  the  manner  of  those  convicts  changed  mys 
teriously  from  that  moment.  Their  gloom  vanished. 
They  smiled  at  Geoffrey  every  time  he  met  their  eyes. 
They  were  constantly  whispering  to  each  other  and  smil 
ing,  and  often  they  looked  long  at  the  Warder  and  meas 
ured  him  as  a  foeman. 

The  next  day  was  Wednesday.  It  rained  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  the  hearts  of  the  four  political  prisoners  went  up 
at  the  steady  down-pour.  But  the  sun  burnt  through  the 
clouds  at  noon,  and  the  moor  glistened  under  his  beams 
all  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"Don't  fret,  Duke,"  whispered  Featherstone.  "Our 
day  is  coming  ;  we  are  young  yet. " 

The  Duke  bowed  at  the  kind  words,  and  he  and  Sydney 
smiled  broadly  at  Geoffrey  to  show  him  that  they  were 
strong-hearted,  just  as  they  looked  serious  to  make  the 
Warder  think  they  were  working  very  hard  indeed. 

The  next  two  days  were  fine,  and  the  Saturday  opened 
with  a  smile  that  fell  like  a  pall  on  the  hearts  that  pined 
for  freedom.  But  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as 
the  two  toilers  on  the  windlass  "  heaved  "  laboriously,  the 
Duke  gave  a  little  cry  of  joy,  so  low  that  only  Sydney 
heard  him.  A  large  drop  of  rain  had  fallen  on  his  hand, 
which  he  held  toward  Sydney.  Five  minutes  later  Geof 
frey,  who  had  been  watching  the  clouds,  bent  his  head  to 
Featherstone,  who  was  working  in  a  cavity  they  had  made 
in  the  cairn. 

"To-night,  I  think,"  he  said.  "It  promises  splen 
didly." 


210  THE  KING'S  MEN, 

Featherstone,  who  was  quite  concealed  in  his  hole, 
laughed  quietly,  and  pointed  to  his  biceps. 

Geoffrey  glanced  at  the  two  below  and  found  them 
watching  his  eye  with  a  question.  He  gave  a  little  nod, 
and  they  both  smiled,  and  soon  after  turned  their  gaze  on 
the  Warder,  who,  to  escape  the  rain,  had  crouched  down 
in  lee  of  the  low  wall. 

When  Featherstone  saw  him  he  said  to  Geoffrey,  "  Just 
look  !  The  Duke  alone  could  capture  that  fellow  now. " 

Had  the  Warder  looked  closely  at  his  prisoners  he  might 
have  noticed  something  odd  about  their  proceedings. 
Though  it  rained  hard  none  of  them  had  donned  the  heavy 
striped  linen  blouse  furnished  to  Dartmoor  prisoners  for 
use  in  wet  weather.  The  truth  was  that  the  blouses  of  all 
four  were  at  that  time  being  cut  into  strips,  and  twisted 
into  stout  cords  by  the  big  Colonel  in  his  hole  in  the  cairn. 

At  4.30  the  rain  fell  with  sober  steadiness,  and  there 
was  no  longer  a  doubt.  In  half  an  hour  the  bell  would 
ring.  The  Warder  still  crouched  under  the  wall. 

Another  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  the  machinery  of 
escape  began  to  move. 

'  *  Hold  on  ! "  shouted  Geoffrey  to  the  two  on  the  wind 
lass.  They  stopped  and  stood  as  if  surprised  at  the  tone. 
Geoffrey  meanwhile  spoke  rapidly  and  excitedly  to  Feather- 
stone,  who  was  unseen  in  the  hole. 

"  What's  the  matter  there  ?"  grumbled  the  Warder. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  says  he  has  discovered  some 
thing.  ' ' 

"Discovered  something!"  repeated  the  Warder,  rising 
and  coming  toward  the  cairn,  up  the  sides  of  which  the 
Duke  and  Sydney  had  scrambled,  regardless  of  rules. 
"  What  has  he  discovered  ?" 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.  211 

"  What  is  it  ?"  Geoffrey  cried  to  Featherstone. 

"  Tell  the  Warder  there  is  something  buried  here  which 
I  can't  lift.  He  had  better  come  up  here  and  see  for 
himself." 

"  The  Warder  heard  the  \vords,  and  climbed  the  cairn. 
He  knelt  on  the  brink  of  the  hole  and  leaned  over  to  see 
the  discovery.  A  quick,  strong  push  from  Geoffrey  sent 
him  headlong  into  Featherstone's  arms,  and  before  he 
knew  what  had  happened  the  Duke  had  gagged  him  with 
his  own  woollen  gloves  and  handkerchief,  and  Sydney  had 
tied  his  hands  and  feet. 

"  Good-by, "  said  Featherstone,  as  he  left  him  securely 
fastened  at  the  foot  of  the  monolith  in  the  hole.  "  If  you 
had  not  been  kind  to  our  old  friends  you  might  have  been 
hurt.  You  will  be  discovered  before  morning. ' ' 

The  Duke  and  Sydney  also  said  "good-by"  to  the 
helpless  officer,  and  then,  as  the  bell  rang,  the  four  advent 
urers  lay  down  in  the  lee  of  the  wall  just  where  the  Warder 
had  sat. 

They  heard  the  gangs  march  past  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall.  The  sound  of  the  warders  locking  the  iron 
bridges  on  the  canals  came  up  to  them  clearly.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  whole  orderly  closing  of  the  day's  work  was 
over.  They  heard  the  lower  gate  of  the  prison  slam 
heavily  into  place  and  the  key  turn  in  the  lock,  not  twenty- 
five  yards  from  where  they  lay. 

As  soon  as  the  gate  was  closed,  Geoffrey  rose  and  cau 
tiously  looked  all  round.  Not  a  living  thing  was  in  sight. 
He  knew  that  they  had  a  clear  hour's  start,  and  he  gave 
the  word  : 

"  Now,  friends,  follow  me." 

They  crossed  the  wall,  and  ran  straight  for  the  new  tool- 


212  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

shed.  Geoffrey  forgot  that  his  speed  was  much  greater 
than  that  of  the  older  men.  Featherstone  kept  up  ;  but 
the  Duke  lagged,  and  Mr.  Sydney,  who  ran  lamely,  was 
left  far  behind. 

When -the  two  latter  came  up  to  the  tool-house  they  met 
Geoffrey  and  Featherstone  shouldering  a  long  new  plank, 
and  making  for  the  first  canal  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"  Follow  us,"  they  said  ;  and,  though  awkwardly  bur 
dened,  they  far  outstripped  the  Duke,  while  poor  Sydney's 
pace  grew  slower  and  slower. 

The  plank  was  down  and  waiting  for  them  when  they 
came  to  the  canal.  They  crossed,  and  Geoffrey  and 
Featherstone  pulled  in  the  plank  and  set  off  for  the  next. 
There  were  nine  canals  to  be  bridged  in  this  way. 

The  slowness  of  Sydney  caused  the  loss  of  many  precious 
minutes.  At  every  trench  they  had  to  wait  for  the  poor 
old  fellow.  When  they  came  to  the  seventh  canal,  he 
stood  on  the  prison  side  when  all  had  crossed,  and  refused 
to  move. 

"  God  speed  you,  my  dear  friends,"  he  said,  with  quiv 
ering  voice.  "  I  cannot  go  any  farther.  You  will  all  be 
lost  if  I  attempt  it.  I  cannot  run  any  more — nor  could  I 
even  walk  the  distance  you  have  to  go. " 

"  Oh,  Sydney,  come  !"  cried  Geoffrey,  with  painful  im 
patience. 

"  Dear  Sydney,  do  not  leave  us,"  pleaded  the  Duke. 

But  Sydney  did  not  move  ;  he  only  waved  a  good-by 
with  his  hand.  He  could  not  speak. 

Without  a  word,  Featherstone  recrossed,  seized  Sydney 
in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  bodily  over.  Geoffrey  pulled 
in  the  plank  alone,  and  started  for  the  eighth  canal. 

Mr.  Sydney  did  not  speak  ;  and  now  he  seemed  even  to 


LOVE  LAUGHS  AT  LOCKSMITHS.  213 

gain  new  strength  and  speed.  He  kept  up  bravely,  and 
even  crossed  the  next  canal  ahead  of  the  Duke.  There 
now  remained  but  one  more. 

'  *  Fifty  minutes  gone, ' '  said  Geoffrey  in  a  low  voice  as 
Featherstone  ran  over  the  plank.  ' '  That  bell  rings  at  ten 
minutes  to  six." 

"  Bravo,  Duke  !"  cried  Featherstone,  as  the  old  man 
stepped  from  the  plank.  "  Come,  Sydney." 

But  Sydney  did  not  come.  Instead,  when  he  came  up 
to  the  canal,  he  bent  down,  seized  the  plank,  and  pitched 
it  into  the  deep  trench  which  ran  rapidly  and  carried  it  off 
toward  the  marsh. 

"  Now  go  ;  and  God  bless  you  all  \"  cried  Sydney,  and 
he  turned  back  and  went  toward  the  prison. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  undoing  Sydney's  sacrificial 
work. 

' '  No  use  waiting, "  cried  Geoffrey.  ' '  In  seven  minutes 
we  shall  be  missed.  God  bless  you,  dear  Sydney  !" 

The  brave  old  fellow  heard  their  loving  words,  but  he 
would  not  turn  or  speak,  fearing  they  might  delay.  He 
walked  on  to  the  canal  before  him,  and  then  he  turned 
and  saw  them  drawing  toward  the  top  of  the  hill.  Then 
he  broke  down  and  sobbed.  But  his  tears  were  not  of 
grief,  but  of  joy. 

Next  moment  the  fugitives  heard  the  alarm  bell  clanging 
at  the  prison.  They  did  not  look  behind,  but  Sydney 
looked,  and  saw  the  lower  gates  open  and  a  crowd  of 
warders  rushing  down  the  hill  shouting.  They  had  seen 
the  escaped  prisoners  just  as  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill. 

Sydney's  heart  failed  him  when  he  saw  the  speed  with 
which  the  pursuit  crossed  the  marsh.  The  light  bridges  of 


214  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

the  canals  were  easily  opened  and  swung  round,  and  in  as 
many  minutes  half  the  canals  were  crossed. 

Just  then  a  light  of  genius  entered  Sydney's  brain,  and 
he  turned  and  ran  and  shouted  in  his  excitement  as  loudly 
as  any  officer  of  them  all.  The  gout  was  forgotten.  The 
years  fell  from  him  like  cobwebs.  He  was  a  youth  of 
twenty  rushing  for  a  football. 

Straight  toward  the  ninth  and  last  canal  he  dashed, 
where  his  friends  had  crossed  beside  the  locked  bridge. 
He  was  panting  like  a  hunted  wolf  when  he  reached  the  spot 
and  sank  down  where  the  bridge  was  locked  to  the  bank. 

By  this  time  the  warders  were  at  the  eighth  canal,  howl 
ing  like  demons  at  sight  of  Sydney.  They  howled  louder 
when  they  overtook  him  and  found  what  he  had  done. 

Mr.  Sydney  had  filled  the  padlock  of  the  bridge  with 
small  stones,  and  he  stood  aside  with  a  grave  face,  looking 
at  the  warders  as  they  tried  to  open  it.  When  they  under 
stood  the  daring  trick,  one  brutal  fellow  rushed  at  Sydney 
and  struck  him  heavily  on  the  face. 

The  old  man  reeled  from  the  blow,  and  then  recovering 
himself,  turned  from  the  ruffian  and  looked  with  disgust 
and  surprise,  not  at  him  but  at  his  crowd  of  fellow- warders. 

"  Stop  that  !"  shouted  one  of  them  to  Sydney's  assail 
ant.  "  That's  no  criminal  ;  and  this  is  no  criminal's  trick." 

There  was  no  crossing  this  last  canal  without  a  bridge  or 
a  plank,  for  the  further  side  was  a  brick  wall  considerably 
higher  than  the  nearer,  designed  to  prevent  escape. 

By  the  time  the  warders  had  cleared  the  lock  from 
Sydney's  obstructions,  his  three  friends  in  Mr.  Windsor's 
carriage,  driven  by  Reynolds,  were  miles  on  their  way 
toward  that  gentleman's  steam  yacht,  which  awaited  them, 
in  the  harbor  of  Torquay. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
MRS.   CAREY'S  HUSBAND. 

OSWALD  CAREY'S  father  had  just  died  and  left  him  a 
great  fortune  made  upon  the  Stock  Exchange  when  the 
son  met  his  wife  for  the  first  time  at  the  country-house  of 
his  father's  old  partner  and  his  then  executor — Benjamin 
Bugbee.  "Young  Croesus,"  as  he  was  then  familiarly 
called,  fell  head  over  heels  in  love  with  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  the  penniless  and  disestablished  clergyman, 
and  during  the  short  space  of  his  courtship  and  honey 
moon  he  forgot  the  one  thing  which  had  previously  ab 
sorbed  his  life — the  gaming-table.  If  his  wife  had  been  a 
good  woman,  or  if  she  had  loved  him,  he  might  have 
stayed  his  hand  from  baccarat.  But  Eleanor  had  married 
him  simply  because  he  was  rich  and  good-natured  and  she 
was  ambitious  and  poor  ;  and  after  their  marriage  she 
plunged  into  the  gayest  of  fashionable  society. 

At  first  Carey  yawned  in  the  anterooms  of  balls,  waiting 
for  his  beautiful  wife,  but  after  a  while  he  tired  of  this  ; 
and,  letting  her  go  into  the  world  alone,  he  betook  himself 
to  the  Turf  and  Jockey  Club,  where  the  play  ran  very 
high,  for  there  adventurers  and  gamesters  of  all  nations 
congregated — the  rich  Russian  met  his  great  rival  wheat- 
grower  of  America,  and  the  price  of  great  farms  changed 


216  THE  KING^S  MEN. 

hands  at  poker  or  at  baccarat.  The  hawks  who  infested  the 
club,  eager  for  the  quarry,  speedily  settled  upon  such  a 
plump  pigeon  as  Carey,  and  while  his  wife  wore  his  dia 
monds  at  gay  balls,  night  after  night,  he  sat  over  the  green 
cloth,  throwing  away  his  youth  and  his  fortune  to  the  harpies. 
It  began  to  be  whispered  in  a  few  years  that  "  Young 
Croesus,"  the  beauty's  husband,  was  cleaned  out.  The 
hawks  found  his  I.  O.  U.'s  were  unredeemed,  and  his 
gorgeous  establishment  in  Mayfair  was  closed.  By  some 
influence  Carey  succeeded  in  getting  an  appointment  as  a 
clerk  in  the  Stamp  and  Sealing  Wax  Office,  while  his  wife 
went  on  in  her  career  as  a  *  *  beauty. ' ' 

At  the  office  Carey  matched  for  half-crowns  with  his 
fellow- clerks,  read  the  sporting  news,  and  busied  himself 
in  computations,  in  connection  with  his  "system"  by 
which  he  should  infallibly  win  at  cards.  Little  by  little 
his  system  absorbed  the  wrecks  left  to  him  of  his  fortune  ; 
and  he  had  nothing  to  live  upon  but  his  salary  and  the 
money  which  his  wife  allowed  him. 

At  last  his  habits  lost  him  his  place  under  government. 

He  had  borrowed  money  from  every  man  in  the  office, 
and  was  in  the  habit  Of  drinking  brandy  and  soda  during 
hours,  and  of  smoking  upon  the  big  leather  sofa  until  the 
janitor,  at  dark,  shook  him  to  his  senses.  After  this  he 
spent  all  his  time  at  the  Turf  and  Jockey,  for  he  still  kept 
his  name  at  this  unsavory  institution  ;  he  led  much  the 
same  life  there  as  at  the  government  office,  save  that  the 
club  servants  let  him  sleep  on  the  sofa  until  morning  if  he 
chose,  and  he  earned  no  pay  while  he  slumbered.  As  a 
counterbalance,  the  brandy  and  soda  was  cheaper  and 
better  than  that  which  had  been  sent  to  him  from  the 
public  house  opposite  to  the  Stamp  and  Sealing  Wax, 


MRS.    CAREY'S  HUSBAND.  217 

and  he  had  all  his  time  to  devote  to  his  system,  while  in 
the  office  he  had  occasionally  a  little  writing  to  do. 

Mrs.  Carey  had  been  living  in  her  husband's  lodging  for 
three  weeks  after  her  interview  with  the  King,  in  the  night 
before  Aldershot.  All  the  world  was  wild  over  the  at 
tempted  revolution,  the  trial  of  the  state  prisoners  and  the 
escape  of  the  King  to  France — all  the  world  but  Oswald 
Carey,  who  gave  no  thought  to  what  passed  on  around 
him;  he  made  deep  calculations  upon  his  "system"  at 
the  club  between  his  draughts  of  "  B.  and  S.,"  and 
played  with  other  wrecked  gamesters,  until  he  lost  his 
ready  money,  for  his  "  system"  worked  to  a  charm  con 
versely — his  opponents  infallibly  won.  Early  in  the  morn 
ing  he  would  stumble  home  to  his  lodgings  cursing  his 
luck. 

On  the  morning  of  his  wife's  departure  to  join  the  King 
in  France,  she  had  informed  him,  as  he  sat  at  the  break 
fast-table,  holding  his  aching  head  in  one  hand,  that  she 
was  going  to  Paris  to  buy  some  new  gowns,  and  that  she 
would  not  be  back  for  some  time,  but  that  during  her  ab 
sence  her  bankers  would  pay  him  $100  every  week.  He 
begged  for  more  money,  but  his  request  was  refused,  and 
his  wife  coldly  shook  hands  with  him,  and  retired  to  her 
room  to  superintend  her  maid's  packing.  Oswald  believed 
her  story,  and,  finding  that  he  could  eat  no  breakfast,  put 
on  his  top  coat  and  crawled  to  the  Turf  and  Jockey  for  a 
"  pick-me-up."  Fortified  by  this,  he  made  up  his  mind 
that,  since  his  "system"  had  failed  because  he  had  had 
always  too  small  a  capital  to  work  with,  he  would  allow  his 
allowance  to  roll  up  at  the  bank  for  three  weeks  before  he 
began  play  again. 

Meanwhile  he  resolved  to  keep  sober,  and  he  spent  his 


2i8  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

time  trying  to  perfect  his  "  system"  and  watching  the  other 
players  at  the  club.  His  burning  ambition  was  to  win  back 
his  fortune  from  the  sharpers  who  had  fleeced  him.  He 
cursed  himself  all  the  while  for  his  folly  in  playing  before 
he  had  learned  the  game.  He  knew  the  game  now  well 
enough,  he  flattered  himself  ;  all  day  long  he  pondered  on 
the  combinations,  and  at  night  myriads  of  cards  floated 
through  his  head.  He  dreamed  that  he  held  the  bank,  and 
that  his  old  adversaries  sat  with  pale  faces  opposite  to  him 
aghast  at  their  losses. 

One  evening  in  April  he  appeared  at  the  club  and 
changed  his  accumulated  dollars  into  chips.  Fortune 
favored  him  that  evening  ;  his  perfected  "  system"  worked 
the  right  way.  .He  walked  home  early  the  next  morning, 
exhilarated  and  happy,  with  his  pockets  stuffed  with  bank 
notes.  He  smoothed  out  and  counted  the  crumpled  bills 
when  he  arrived  at  his  lodgings,  and  found  that  his  pile 
had  grown  to  $10,000,  and  for  some  days  his  dreams  of 
success  were  fulfilled,  and  he  was  "  cock  of  the  walk"  at 
the  Turf  and  Jockey.  He  ordered  champagne  recklessly 
at  dinner  for  the  other  men,  though  he  drank  little  himself. 

He  even  wrote  a  little  note  to  his  wife  in  Paris,  inclos 
ing  a  thousand-dollar  bank-note  to  buy  some  bonnets 
and  a  gown. 

"  Nell  will  be  surprised,"  he  had  said  to  himself,  as  he 
slipped  the  notes  into  the  envelope.  "  By  gad,  when  I 
get  all  my  money  back,  I  shall  cut  all  this,  and  we  will  go 
to  America  on  a  ranch.  Poor  Nell  !  I  haven't  treated 
her  right.  I  fear  I  have  made  a  dreadful  mess  of  it  all." 

He  went  to  the  gaming-table  that  evening  with  a  light 
heart,  and  with  other  thoughts  than  his  "  system"  in  his 
mind — thoughts  which  had  not  been  his  for  years. 


MRS.    CAREY'S  HUSBAND.  219 

It  happened  that  a  young  Oxford  undergraduate  was  at 
the  table,  and  the  young  fellow  had  drank  freely  and  had 
consumed  a  great  deal  of  the  ' '  Golden  Boy, "  as  he  affec 
tionately  termed  the  club  champagne.  As  a  consequence 
of  these  libations  and  of  his  utter  ignorance  of  the  game, 
he  played  recklessly,  and  won  from  the  beginning, 
although  he  was  surrounded  by  the  most  astute  players  in 
England.  Poor  Carey's  cherished  "  system"  was  power 
less  against  the  boy's  absurd  play  and  tremendous  run  of 
luck,  and  his  pile  of  chips  melted  away  like  snow  in  April, 
until  he  had  not  a  dollar  left.  He  rushed  down  to  the 
office  of  the  club  to  get  the  letter  to  his  wife  which  he  had 
put  in  the  box,  but  the  mail  had  been  sent  away.  He 
succeeded  in  borrowing  $50  upon  his  watch  from  the  club 
steward,  and  returned  to  the  table.  But  it  was  of  no  use  ; 
this  soon  followed  the  rest  of  his  money.  There  were  but 
two  rules  at  the  Turf  and  Jockey — "no  I.  O.  U.'s 
were  allowed  at  the  card-table,  and  no  one  was  permitted, 
under  pain  of  expulsion  from  the  club,  to  borrow  or  lend 
money."  Carey  had  no  alternative  but  to  sit  by  the  gam 
ing-table  and  watch  the  play.  He  slept  at  the  club  on  the 
sofa  that  night,  and  looked  on  at  the  play  all  the  next  day, 
drinking  brandy  all  the  while.  The  Oxford  boy  had  left 
the  club  late  in  the  night  before,  carrying  most  of  the 
ready  money  of  the  establishment  with  him,  and  the 
broken  gamblers  played  for  but  small  stakes.  The  excite 
ment  of  his  losses  and  the  constant  draughts  of  brandy  had 
made  Carey  wild  and  nervous.  He  paced  to  and  fro  in 
the  billiard-room,  racking  his  fuddled  brain  to  find  out  a 
way  for  getting  at  ready  money.  His  friends  had  long 
since  ceased  lending  to  him  ;  his  wife  had  repeatedly  told 
him  that  she  would  not  supply  him  with  money  to  gamble 


220  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

with.  Finally  he  remembered  that  she  had  told  him  that 
she  had  called  upon  the  President  to  induce  that  wise  ruler 
to  restore  him  to  his  place  in  the  Stamp  and  Sealing 
Wax.  If  he  could  only  get  that  task,  he  would  in  a  few 
weeks,  with  his  hundred  dollars'  allowance  a  week  and  his 
salary,  have  a  considerable  sum  to  give  his  system  another 
chance,  taking  care  to  avoid  tipsy  greenhorns  this  time. 
He  felt  too  rickety  to  face  the  President  until  he  had 
drank  several  more  glasses  of  brandy.  This  done,  he 
hailed  a  cab  and  drove  straight  to  Buckingham  Palace. 
Immediately  he  sent  in  his  name  by  the  policeman  ;  he 
was  shown  into  the  President's  private  room,  where  the 
ruler  of  England  was  seated  at  a  large  desk  looking  over  a 
heap  of  official  papers.  The  President  looked  sharply  and 
inquiringly  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Oswald  Carey  ?"  he  inquired,  looking  at  the  card 
which  he  held  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  stammered  Carey,  who  felt  his  hand  shaking 
violently  as  he  leaned  against  the  President's  desk.  "I 
have  come  to  shee  about  my  reshtoration  to  Samp  and 
Stealing-Wax  Office — I  beg  pardon,  I  mean  Steal  and 
Sampling- Wax  Office."  He  twirled  the  waxed  end  of  his 
mustache  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  looked  uneasily  at 
the  President,  feeling  that  he  had  taken  more  brandy  than 
was  necessary  to  settle  his  nerves. 

The  President  said  nothing,  but  smiled  a  little  scorn 
fully.  Nothing  gave  Bagshaw  such  keen  delight  as  to  see 
a  gentleman,  even  such  a  wreck  of  a  gentleman  as  Carey, 
in  a  base  position. 

"  Mrs.  Carey  spoke  to  you  about  it  some  t-time  ago,  I 
be-believe,"  stammered  Carey,  who  was  sorry  that  he  had 
come  there  by  this  time.  "  I  was  a  useful  public  servant." 


MRS.   CAREY'S  HUSBAND.  221 

The  President  smiled  grimly. 

"  We  are  under  great  obligations  to  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey, ' '  he  said,  ' '  and  I  shall  see  that  you  are  restored  to 
your  position,  only  you  must  not  be  so  obstinate  about 
your  assessments  in  the  future,  as  there  is  no  Legitimate 
party  now,  thanks  to  your  beautiful  wife. 

"  Thanks  to  my  beautiful  wife  !  What  do  you  mean, 
sir?"  blurted  Carey,  staggering  over  toward  the  President 
and  resting  upon  his  two  hands  on  the  desk.  "  Thanks  to 
my  beautiful  wife  \" 

"  Come,  come,  sir,"  said  the  President,  "  be  seated. 
You,  of  course,  know  what  I  mean.  Your  wife  never 
spoke  to  me  about  restoring  you  to  your  office.  She  said 
that  she  would  some  time  ask  a  favor  of  me  in  return  for 
the  information  which  she  gave  me.  You  have  come  to 
claim  that  return.  I  will  keep  my  promise  to  her.  How 
ever,  if  you  do  not  leave  brandy  alone,  the  office  will  not 
do  you  much  good. ' ' 

"Damn  your  office,"  cried  Carey,  who. had  been  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  honor  before  the  passion  for 
gambling  had  seized  upon  him.  Once  he  had  dreamed  of 
a  home,  of  children  who  should  be  proud  to  own  him  as 
their  father,  and  he  still  loved  his  wife.  "  What  informa 
tion  did  Mrs.  Carey  give  you  ?" 

Carey's  hands  nervously  clutched  a  heavy  bronze  ink 
stand,  which  lay  on  the  table  in  front  of  the  President. 

"  The  information  which  led  to  the  suppression  of  the 
Royalist  outbreak  at  Aldershot.  Mrs.  Carey  is  a  govern 
ment  spy  and  informer,"  answered  Bagshaw  brutally. 
Then  he  tried  to  rise  from  his  chair,  for  he  saw  a  threaten 
ing  look  in  Carey's  eye. 

He  was   too  late,   for   Carey,    crying,  ' '  You   lie,  you 


222  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

hound  !"  lifted  up  the  heavy  inkstand  which  his  hands  had 
been  mechanically  clutching,  and  hurled  it  at  the  Presi 
dent's  bald  head. 

The  missile  stunned  the  President  and  cut  a  great  gash 
in  his  head,  and  he  fell  senseless  forward  on  the  desk,  a 
stream  of  mingled  ink  and  blood  dripping  from  his  fore 
head  upon  the  papers. 

Carey  looked  at  him  disdainfully  for  a  moment,  and 
laughed  derisively. 

The  policeman  at  the  door  said  nothing  to  him  as  he 
went  out  ;  there  had  been  no  noise  from  the  'private  room. 

Then  he  walked  a  little  hurriedly  to  his  cab  and  told  the 
cabman  to  drive  to  the  club. 

On  the  way  there  he  trembled  violently  with  rage  as  he 
thought  of  what  the  President  had  said  to  him  of  his  wife, 
but  chuckled  when  he  thought  of  the  revenge  which  he 
had  taken. 

"  He  will  wake  up  with  a  cursed  headache,"  Carey  said 
to  himself,  "  and  if  he  wishes  to  arrest  me,  he  can  do  it. 
Even  the  President  cannot  slander  a  man's  wife." 

He  was  quite  sober  now,  and  had  forgotten  all  about  his 
"  system."  He  thought  of  his  wife,  and  wondered  if  she 
was  pleased  at  the  little  present  which  he  had  sent  to  her  in 
Paris  ;  he  thought  of  the  days  of  his  early  love  for  her, 
when  she  had  seemed  to  him  a  goddess  ;  and  this  scoun 
drel  had  called  her,  his  Eleanor,  a  spy,  and  asserted  that 
he  had  come  to  claim  the  reward  of  her  treachery.  At  the 
club  he  noticed  that  all  the  men  whispered  to  each  other 
and  smiled.  When  he  entered  the  smoking-room  a  group 
were  eagerly  reading  the  latest  news,  which  rolled  in  over 
the  ' '  ticker' '  in  the  corner.  He  supposed  that  the  other 
fellows  were  making  merry  over  his  losses,  and,  with  a 


MRS.    CAREY'S  HUSBAND.  223 

hard  laugh,  he  settled  into  an  easy-chair  and  lighted  a 
cigar.  It  pleased  him  to  think  of  the  President's  bald 
head  smeared  with  blood  and  ink.  He  felt  himself  more 
of  a  man  than  he  had  for  years.  Just  then  a  waiter 
brought  him  a  letter  upon  a  tray.  It  was  his  letter  to  his 
wife  in  Paris,  into  which  he  had  slipped  the  bank-notes. 
Her  bankers  had  returned  it  to  him,  and  it  was  marked 
"  Not  found."  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  and  won 
dered  where  Eleanor  might  be,  and  why  he  had  not  heard 
from  her  all  this  time.  He  remembered  now  that  she  had 
been  gone  a  long  time  ;  he  had  been  so  absorbed  in  his 
play  that  he  had  not  thought  much  about  it  before. 
Looking  up,  he  saw  that  the  other  men  were  all  clustered 
around  the  "  ticker,"  and  that  one  of  them  was  reading  a 
despatch,  and  the  others  listened  attentively,  every  now 
and  then  glancing  over  to  him.  He  could  not  imagine  at 
first  what  they  were  after  ;  then  it  occurred  to  him  that 
they  were  sending  the  news  of  his  assault  upon  the  Presi 
dent. 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  you  fellows  ?"  he  asked,  walking 
over  to  them  ;  "  it  must  be  damned  amusing  !"  The 
men  scattered  as  he  approached,  and  left  the  ' '  ticker' '  for 
his  use,  looking  uneasily  at  him  as  he  lifted  the  white  tape 
in  his  hand  and  read  the  despatch  which  had  so  much  in 
terested  them. 

It  was  from  Boston,  UV  S.  A.,  telling  of  the  arrival  of 
the  steamer  with  King  George  the  Fifth  and  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey  on  board.  The  despatch  darkly  hinted  that  she  had 
been  the  cause  of  the  King's  failure  to  meet  his  adherents 
at  Aldershot 

The  room  grew  dark"  to  Carey,  and  seemed  to  whir 
around  him  ;    the   other   men  saw  his  face  grow  deadly 


224  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

white  and  his  lips  close  firmly.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice 
them,  but  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  staggered 
from  the  room. 

"  God  I"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  I  believe  that  Carey 
was  the  only  man  in  England  who  didn't  know  what  a 
woman  his  wife  was.  What  do  you  suppose  he  will  do  ?" 

"  Heaven  knows,"  said  a  second.  "  But,  I  say,  boys, 
let's  have  a  drink." 

Carey  found  in  the  office  that  there  was  time  to  catch 
the  next  mail  steamer  from  Liverpool  for  Boston  if  he 
rushed  to  the  next  train. 

"  The  cursed  scoundrel  spoke  the  truth,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  but  I  hope  that  I  have  crushed  his  head,  just 
the  same  ;  and  now  I  shall  be  in  America  in  five  days — 
and  then — "  He  looked  out  at  the  landscape  whirling  by 
the  windows  of  the  railway  carriage  and  set  his  teeth. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

AT   THE    COURT   OF   ST.    JAMES. 

THE  news  of  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  in  Boston 
caused  some  nutter  in  social  circles.  Her  precise  relations 
to  the  exiled  King  became  at  once  a  subject  for  specula 
tion.  Men  of  the  world,  with  a  taste  for  scandal,  shrugged 
their  shoulders  and  laughed  knowingly.  Charitably  dis 
posed  people,  who  did  not  believe  in  bothering  their 
heads  about  their  neighbors'  affairs,  preferred  to  give  her 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  The  serious  question  was 
whether  society  ought  to  open  its  doors  to  her.  Her  repu 
tation  as  a  beauty  had  preceded  her.  The  American  public 
had  long  been  familiar  with  her  fascinating  face.  Should 
she  be  welcomed  as  a  sister  or  treated  to  the  cold  shoulder, 
which  the  world  regards  as  the  due  of  Mary  Magdalene  ? 

Girls  settle  everything  in  America.  Two  married 
women  and  a  maiden  met  to  discuss  the  propriety  of  invit 
ing  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  to  five  o'clock  tea.  One  of  them 
brought  the  particulars  of  her  life  vouched  for  by  the  most 
charming  attaches  of  the  court.  Her  career  had  been 
peculiarly  sad.  She  was  the  victim  of  a  most  affecting 
romance.  The  man  whom  she  loved  with  all  the  passion 
of  which  woman  is  capable  had  discarded  her  for  another. 
She  had  been  left  poor  and  friendless.  She  had  supported 


226  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

herself  by  painting  china  and  by  the  pittance  derived  from 
the  sale  of  her  photographs,  the  last  not  of  course  quite  the 
thing,  but  pardonable  under  the  circumstances.  Then, 
and  not  until  then,  she  might  have  been  somewhat  uncon 
ventional. 

"  Girls,"  exclaimed  the  maiden,  "  even  if  she  has  been 
a  little  indiscreet  in  the  past,  a  grand,  superb  woman  such 
as  she  ought  not  to  be  judged  by  ordinary  standards." 

"Besides,  the  King  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father," 
said  another.  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  in  these 
stories." 

"  It  would  be  a  pity  to  offend  the  dear  old  King,"  said 
the  third. 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Mrs.  Carey  accepted  their  invita 
tion.  She  came,  saw,  and  conquered.  Her  charms  were 
sufficient  to  deafen  all  but  a  few  of  the  jtunesse  doree  to  the 
unsavory  rumors  still  in  circulation,  notwithstanding  the 
denial  of  their  truth  by  the  maiden  and  her  associates. 
This  trio  took  to  themselves  the  credit  of  having  overcome 
the  squeamishness  of  society,  and  as  a  reward  for  their 
perspicuity  they  considered  themselves  entitled  to  intimacy 
with  their  idol.  Very  speedily,  as  may  be  imagined,  the 
clever  woman  took  advantage  of  these  proffers  of  friend 
ship.  Before  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  she  had  drawn  tears 
from  her  three  auditors  by  a  narration  of  the  story  of  her 
life.  "  How  sad  !  how  pathetic  !  how  you  must  have 
suffered  !"  they  exclaimed  together,  and  Eleanor  Carey, 
weeping  with  them,  murmured  in  the  intervals  of  her  sobs, 
"  It  is  almost  worth  suffering  to  have  such  friends  as  you. " 

The  dear  old  King  !  In  the  early  days  of  his  exile  there 
had  been  much  to  flatter  the  pride  of  the  deposed  sover 
eign.  On  his  first  appearance  at  the  theatre  the  orchestra 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.  227 

had  played  "  God  Save  the  King,"  and  a  buzz  of  sympa 
thetic  interest  spread  through  the  audience.  He  had  risen 
and  bowed.  For  the  next  few  days  the  Old  Province 
House  was  beset  with  callers.  The  fashion  and  intelli 
gence  of  the  city  paid  their  respects  to  royalty  in  misfort 
une.  The  Princess  Henrietta,  the  King's  only  child,  a 
stout,  hearty-looking  girl  of  eighteen,  without  beauty, 
made  her  debut  into  society  under  these  auspices.  The 
first  year,  despite  the  change  in  their  circumstances,  had 
been  passed  happily  and  with  comparative  content  by  the 
exiles. 

But  time,  in  its  craving  for  novelties,  does  not  spare  even 
potentates.  King  George  the  Fifth  soon  ceased  to  occupy 
the  public  attention,  except  in  a  minor  degree.  After  their 
curiosity  had  been  satisfied  people  began  to  laugh  a  little 
at  the  ceremonies  and  liveries  of  a  court  which  existed  only 
by  courtesy.  When  the  King  went  to  the  theatre  the  stage 
box  was  no  longer  at  his  disposal  unless  he  paid  for  it,  and 
on  the  opening  night  at  the  opera  the  claims  of  the  family 
of  ex-Senator  Baggely,  of  Idaho,  were  regarded  by  the 
manager  as  superior  to  his.  His  exchequer,  too,  was  low. 
He  was  said  to  be  wholly  dependent  on  what  Bugbee 
allowed  him.  Rumors  began  to  spread  regarding  the 
crown  jewels.  One  of  the  best  known  hotel-keepers  in 
the  city  was  said  to  have  a  mortgage  on  them.  The  royal 
carriage  was  presently  dragged  by  only  one  horse.  The 
other,  a  magnificent  bay  gelding,  was  reported  to  have  the 
distemper,  a  trifling  ailment,  which  would  last  but  a  few 
days.  The  animal  did  not  reappear,  however,  until  a 
reporter  discovered  it  months  after  among  the  blooded 
stock  of  a  New  York  banker.  So  it  went  from  bad  to 
worse.  Soon  the  King  and  his  daughter  walked  upon 


228  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

ordinary  occasions,  and  when  they  did  drive  made  use  of 
the  public  stable.  A  groom  in  livery  on  the  box  beside 
the  driver  alone  distinguished  the  equipage.  At  last  one 
day  the  King  took  the  Princess  Henrietta  aside  and  said  : 

"  My  child,  we  must  leave  this  place.  I  cannot  afford 
to  remain  at  the  Old  Province  House  any  longer. ' ' 

"What!  leave  the  Old  Province  House,  the  residence 
of  the  colonial  governors?"  cried  the  Princess,  who  had 
picturesque  and  sentimental  notions  despite  her  portly  ap 
pearance.  ' '  It  is  renouncing  the  last  prestige  of  royalty. 
Oh,  I  hope  your  Majesty  will  not  persevere  in  this  deter 
mination. " 

The  King  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  Our  present 
apartments  are  too  expensive.  Besides,  I  have — eh — eh — 
advantageous  proposals  from  the  proprietor  of  a  South  End 
establishment,  who  desires  to  improve  the  tone  of  his  hotel 
and  neighborhood.  I  think  if  I  accede  to  them  we  may  be 
able  to  have  our  carriage  again." 

' '  Oh,  father,  it  is  better  to  be  poor  and  preserve  our 
self-respect." 

King  George  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  sighed  medita 
tively.  "  It  will  be  only  for  a  little  while.  My  party  will 
soon  restore  me  to  the  throne  of  England. ' '  He  paused, 
and  his  voice  trembled.  He  took  out  his  handkerchief 
and  wiped  his  watery  eyes,  which  were  blinking  worse  than 
usual.  "  If  we  do  not  move,  Henrietta,  I  cannot  see  how 
we  shall  be  able  to  pay  the  rent.  You  know  I  only  have 
what  Bugbee  allows  me. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  my  poor  father, ' '  cried  the  Princess,  and  she 
flung  her  arms  lovingly  about  his  neck,  "  has  it  come  to 
this  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  in  such  distress.  Let  me 
earn  something  for  our  support.  I  have  been  idle  long 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.          229 

enough.  I  could  be  a  good  governess,  I  think,  with  my 
knowledge  of  modern  languages.  Very  possibly,  the 
Waitstill  C.  Hancocks  would  engage  me  to  teach  their  chil 
dren.  They  have  been  very  friendly,  you  know. ' ' 

"  No,  no,  Henrietta,  I  will  hear  nothing  of  the  kind. 
What !  a  Princess  of  the  House  of  Hanover  go  out  to  ser 
vice  !  This  is  the  final  stroke  !"  He  repulsed  her  with 
indignation. 

"  But,  your  Majesty,  consider.  If  I  do  not  do  some 
thing  we  shall  starve. ' ' 

"  Not  if  we  accept  the  terms  to  which  I  have  alluded," 
said  the  King,  mysteriously. 

"  Do  you  mean,  your  Majesty,  that  you  have  sold  your 
self?"  asked  the  Princess.  For  an  instant  a  suspicion 
passed  through  her  mind,  which  she  dismissed  straight 
way.  There  were  those  about  the  court  who  declared  the 
monarch  was  a  miser  and  had  a  fortune  hidden  away  in 
his  strong  box. 

"It  is  merely  a  case  of  fair  exchange, ' '  replied  King 
George,  doggedly.  ' '  The  fellow  wants  to  raise  the  char 
acter  of  his  house.  He  will  give  me  lodging  in  return  for 
my  patronage.  I  do  not  see  anything  out  of  the  way  in 
that," 

' '  Oh,  father  !  I  will  not  be  a  party  to  such  a  degrada 
tion,"  burst  out  Henrietta,  and  she  began  to  cry. 

In  the  end,  however,  the  royal  exodus  to  the  South  End 
took  place,  and  a  new  era  of  prosperity  dawned  upon  the 
House  of  Hanover.  By  his  arrangement  with  his  new 
landlord,  the  King  was  enabled  to  keep  up  a  more  impos 
ing  state.  He  bought  fresh  liveries  for  his  retainers  and 
refitted  his  carriage.  There  was  a  report  that  he  had  made 
money  in  a  grain  corner.  His  anxious  expression  wore 


230  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

away,  and  he  gained  flesh.  The  public  took  little  interest 
in  him,  to  be  sure  ;  but  among  fashionable  people  he  was 
a  great  favorite.  The  coupes  of  the  rich  trundled  over  the 
pavements  to  his  retreat  at  the  St.  James  Hotel.  The 
Court  of  St.  James,  it  was  called,  with  an  obvious  but 
happy  pertinency.  The  King  passed  his  day  at  the  whist- 
table  in  the  swell  West  End  Club.  He  dined  out  fre 
quently,  and  was  a  familiar  figure  at  large  entertainments. 
The  Honorable  Waitstill  C.  Hancock  always  treated  him 
at  his  receptions  (which  were  among  the  most  elegant  of 
their  kind)  with  marked  deference.  It  must  have  been 
very  gratifying  to  the  exiled  monarch  to  note  the  courtly 
tone  in  which  his  host  remarked,  "  Your  Majesty,  will  you 
take  Mrs.  Hancock  in  to  supper?" 

Time  passed,  and  one  day  the  city  awoke  to  hear  that 
the  King  had  gone  off  on  a  fishing  trip  to  Florida.  A 
splendidly  furnished  steam  yacht,  large  enough,  if  needs 
were,  for  ocean  travel,  had  come  into  the  harbor  in  the 
evening,  and  sailed  away  the  following  morning  with  the 
royal  exile  on  board.  The  Princess  Henrietta  had  re 
mained  behind.  There  were  rumors  in  circulation  which 
tended  to  discredit  the  truth  of  the  alleged  destination  of 
the  yacht.  Mariners  from  the  docks  declared  her  to  be 
equipped  for  fighting.  People  remembered,  too,  that  the 
King  during  the  past  few  weeks  had  been  seen  to  handle 
larger  sums  of  money  than  was  his  wont.  He  had  made 
purchases  of  army  apparel  and  several  silver-mounted 
revolvers. 

A  few  weeks  later  the  news  of  the  insurrection  at  Alder- 
shot  and  its  suppression  were  flashed  over  the  cable.  The 
King,  so  the  subsequent  despatches  said,  was  supposed  to 
be  concealed  in  London,  and  a  large  reward  had  been 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.  231 

offered  for  his  apprehension.  The  good  people  of  Boston 
were  somewhat  surprised,  therefore,  one  morning  to  hear 
that  the  incoming  steamer  from  England  had  a  royal 
freight.  When  the  King  was  asked  what  luck  he  had  had 
in  fishing,  he  blinked  his  watery  eyes  and  answered,  mys 
teriously,  ' c  You  will  know  presently. ' '  This  was  his 
reply  to  the  friends  who  met  him  as  he  walked  down  the 
plank  of  the  vessel.  A  moment  after  all  eyes  were  directed 
to  the  beautiful  woman  who  emerged  from  the  cabin  and 
entered  the  carriage  with  the  ex-sovereign.  All  doubt  of 
her  identity  was  removed  when  the  Court  Circular  of  the 
following  morning  announced  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Oswald 
Carey.  Apartments  had  been  engaged  for  her  contiguous 
to  those  occupied  by  his  Majesty. 

One  evening,  about  four  weeks  subsequent  to  the  return 
of  the  royal  party,  the  King  was  disturbed  by  the  entrance 
of  the  Princess  Henrietta  into  his  cabinet  de  travail.  He 
was  engaged  in  footing  up  his  gains  and  losses  at  whist 
during  the  week,  and  the  interruption  caused  him  to 
glower  slightly  at  his  daughter.  But  she  was  far  too  ex 
cited  to  observe  his  manner. 

"  Father,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  I  can  endure  it  no 
longer. ' ' 

"  Endure  what,  your  Royal  Highness?" 

"  The  presence  of  that  woman.  Either  she  must  leave 
the  court  or  I  will. ' '  The  eyes  of  the  Princess  flashed 
angrily. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  as  to  your  meaning,  Henrietta.  Do 
you  refer  to  the  Lady  Muriel  Howard  ?" 

"  You  know  that  I  do  not.  There  can  be  only  one  to 
whom  such  language  is  applicable.  Mrs.  Carey  is  not  a 
proper  person  to  remain  at  court. ' ' 


232  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

The  King  scratched  his  chirr  thoughtfully.  "  What  has 
she  done  ?' ' 

' '  Done,  father  ?  Is  not  her  reputation  in  the  past 
evil  enough  to  disqualify  her  for  the  society  of  your 
daughter  ?' ' 

* '  You  have  been  misinformed,  Princess.  Mrs.  Carey 
is  a  long-suffering  and  much-abused  woman.  I  do  not 
speak  at  random.  I  know  her  intimately." 

"  So  I  am  given  to  understand,"  replied  the  daughter, 
with  bitterness.  "  Lady  Constance  Percy  inquired  this 
morning  if  her  Majesty  was  well." 

"  You  do  not  choose  your  ladies  in  waiting  with  discre 
tion.  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  has  a  husband  whose  existence 
shows  at  once  the  absurdity  of  your  disagreeable  and  un- 
filial  suspicion.  I  have  no  purpose,  Henrietta,  to  take 
another  consort"  The  King  wiped  his  eyes  with  a  gentle 
melancholy. 

' '  And  you  will  send  her  away,  will  you  not,  father  ?  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  disrespectful,  but  I  cannot  endure  her 
presence. ' ' 

"  Send  who  away  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey." 

"  She  amuses  me,  child.  Her  great  beauty  is  delightful 
to  gaze  at"  King  George  put  a  lozenge  into  his  mouth 
and  sighed  reflectively.  He  was  a  victim  to  asthma.  The 
east  winds  of  Boston  cut  him  to  the  bone. 

"  Do  not  compel  me,  your  Majesty,  to  be  more  ex 
plicit  I  repeat,  either  this  woman  or  I  must  leave  your 
court ' ' 

The  late  ruler  of  England  wrung  his  hands.  "  I  see 
you  are  resolved  to  drive  me  to  distraction.  This  is  the 
final  stroke.  My  daughter  wishes  to  desert  me.  Lear, ' ' 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.          233 

he  added,  piteously,  ' '  was  only  a  touch  to  me.  You  are 
Goneril  and  Regan  combined  in  one." 

He  scowled  angrily  at  her.  Just  then  the  door  was 
opened,  and  a  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber  announced 
that  dinner  was  served. 

"  Is  the  court  in  waiting  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  Majesty." 

"  This  is  my  birthday,"  observed  the  King,  moodily. 

' '  So  it  is, ' '  cried  Henrietta  ;  '  *  how  remiss  of  me  not  to 
have  spoken  of  it. ' ' 

But  her  father  paid  no  attention  to  her  words.  He  was 
fumbling  in  his  pocket.  "How  many  will  there  be  at 
table  ?"  he  inquired  of  the  equerry. 

"  Fourteen,  Sire." 

"  Humph  !  Lady  Constance  Percy  and  Lady  Rosa 
mond  Temple  do  not  drink  champagne.  Neither  does 
Paran  Paget.  Lord  Gladstone  Churchill  swore  off  yester 
day."  He  spoke  as  if  soliloquizing,  and  went  through  a 
process  of  calculation  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  He 
handed  a  key  to  his  retainer. 

' '  Tell  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  have  two  quarts  and 
one  pint,"  he  said.  "And  Lady  Muriel  Howard  is  on 
no  consideration  to  have  more  than  a  single  glass.  Come, 
Henrietta." 

Dinner  was  always  served  for  the  royal  party  in  the  main 
dining-hall  of  the  hotel.  The  large  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  was  reserved  for  them.  First  appeared  the  mas 
ter  of  the  household  bearing  the  wand  of  office.  The 
King  came  next,  followed  by  the  Princess  and  her  three 
Maids  of  Honor,  Lady  Constance  Percy,  Lady  Rosamond 
Temple,  and  Lady  Muriel  Howard,  all  alike  duennas  of  a 
certain  age.  The  first  named  were  sober,  prim-looking 


234  HE  KING'S  MEN. 

persons,  but  Lady  Muriel  Howard,  who  wore  low-neck, 
corkscrew  curls,  and  carried  an  enormous  fan,  ogled  the 
various  occupants  of  the  dining-room  through  her  eyeglass 
as  she  advanced.  The  remainder  of  the  retinue  included 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  an  old  nobleman  of  threescore 
and  ten,  and  a  half-dozen  lesser  peers,  nearly  all  of  whom 
were  on  the  shady  side  of  sixty.  Lord  Gladstone  Churchill, 
Paran  Paget,  and  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  who  were  always  in 
attendance  on  the  person  of  the  sovereign,  were  the  only 
youthful  spirits.  It  was  the  former  of  these  who  had  fur 
nished  the  romantic  story  of  Mrs.  Carey's  early  life  to  the 
society  lady.  As  the  royal  party  walked  to  their  table  a 
few  guests  of  the  hotel  rose  and  remained  standing  until 
the  King  had  signified  by  a  glance  that  all  should  be  seated. 

The  royal  bill  of  fare  was  distinct  from  the  table  £hdte. 
The  proprietor  of  the  house  allowed  under  his  contract 
with  the  King  a  certain  sum  daily  for  the  cuisine.  The 
King  was  entitled  to  save  anything  he  could  on  that 
amount.  To-day  there  was  a  boiled  dinner.  Boiled 
chickens  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  boiled  corned  beef  at 
the  other  followed  the  soup. 

' '  How  good  an  entree  would  taste, ' '  whispered  Lord 
Cecil  Manners  to  the  Earl  of  Kildare,  casting  a  glance  at  a 
neighboring  table,  where  a  vol-au-vent  of  sweetbreads  was 
being  passed  by  the  servant. 

"What  was  that  you  said,  Lord  Cecil?"  asked  the 
King,  sharply. 

"  I  was  calling  his  lordship's  attention  to  the  champagne 
glasses,"  answered  the  peer,  with  a  silly  giggle. 

"  It  is  my  birthday,"  explained  the  King.  "  You  shall 
drink  my  health  later  on  in  the  repast." 

There  was  a  flutter  of  congratulation  around  the  table. 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.  235 

"How  indecorous  of  me  not  to  have  remembered," 
said  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  with  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

"  Many  happy  returns  of  the  day,"  said  Lady  Muriel 
Howard,  and  she  whisked  her  handkerchief  coquettishly  at 
her  sovereign. 

King  George  presided  at  one  end  of  the  table,  and  the 
Princess  Henrietta  at  the  other.  The  nobility  were  seated 
according  to  their  rank.  Lady  Muriel  Howard  being  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  the  first  peer  of 
the  realm,  sat  on  the  King's  right,  and  the  Duke  of  Wel 
lington  in  the  seat  of  honor  by  the  Princess.  Midway 
down  the  table  was  a  vacant  chair,  and  it  was  noticed  that 
the  King  glanced  frequently  with  an  air  of  impatience 
toward  the  door  in  the  intervals  of  the  carving.  He  pre 
ferred  to  carve  the  dinner  himself.  Two  servants  waited 
upon  the  company. 

"  His  Majesty  is  out  of  sorts  to  day.  He  has  given  me 
only  drumsticks, ' '  murmured  Lady  Muriel  to  the  compan 
ion  on  her  other  side. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey?"  asked  the  monarch  at 
last. 

"  Here  she  comes,  your  Majesty/'  said  Lady  Constance 
Percy,  nodding  toward  the  entrance. 

Mrs.  Carey,  in  a  superb  black  velvet  costume,  cut  square 
in  front,  with  a  Maltese  cross  of  brilliants  resting  upon  her 
bosom,  swept  grandly  across  the  dining  hall.  She  held  a 
small  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  hand.  The  head  waiter  of 
the  hotel,  bowing  almost  to  the  ground,  waved  her  toward 
the  royal  table.  Everybody  in  the  room  paused  to  gaze  at 
the  superb  beauty.  The  master  of  the  household  drew 
back  her  chair,  but  she  did  not  stop  until  she  reached  the 
King. 


236  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

14  Sire,"  she  said,  with  a  profound  courtesy,  "pardon 
my  tardiness,  and  accept,  if  you  will,  these  roses  in  com 
memoration  of  your  birthday." 

The  King  looked  delighted.  "  Yes,  it  is  my  birthday," 
he  answered.  "  I  was  afraid  you  would  come  too  late  for 
the  champagne." 

Mrs.  Carey  was  about  to  retire  to  her  seat  when  the 
King  exclaimed,  "  Lady  Muriel,  if  it's  all  the  same,  I'll 
get  you  to  change  seats  with  Mrs.  Carey.  Am  I  not  your 
sovereign?"  he  inquired,  noticing  the  glum  looks  of  the 
outraged  maid  of  honor. 

All  through  the  rest  of  the  meal  Mrs.  Carey  and  the 
King  whispered  together.  ' '  I  have  taken  a  great  liberty, ' ' 
said  she  at  last. 

"And  what  is  that?  The  only  liberty  that  I  should 
object  to  your  taking  would  be  taking  yourself  away." 

*'  I  have  invited  a  party  of  friends  to  your  drawing-room 
to-night.  I  had  promised  a  sweet  girl,  who  seems  to  have 
taken  an  interest  in  me,  to  chaperone  a  theatre  party,  and 
s"he  is  going  to  bring  her  guests  here  instead.  Does  this 
inconvenience  your  Majesty  ?" 

"  Nothing  that  you  could  do  would  inconvenience  me," 
and  he  gurgled  as  he  drank  his  champagne. 

"  She  plays  her  cards  well,  ri  est-ce  pas"  said  Lady 
Muriel  to  her  new  neighbor,  Lord  Gladstone  Church 
ill. 

King  George  caught  her  saturnine  expression.  He 
turned  to  the  master  of  the  household  at  his  elbow. 
"  Did  I  not  order  that  Lady  Muriel  Howard  should  have 
only  one  glass  of  wine  ?' ' 

"  She  insisted  on  more,  your  Majesty,"  groaned  the 
major-domo. 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.          237 

"  Am  I  not  King  ?"  said  the  monarch,  and  he  pounded 
on  the  table  so  that  the  glasses  rang. 

This  incident  attracted  every  one's  attention.  Conversa 
tion  flagged,  and  presently  the  Princess  gave  the  signal  for 
rising  from  the  table.  The  ladies  went  out  in  advance, 
each  turning  as  she  left  her  seat  and  making  a  low  courtesy 
to  the  King.  Mrs.  Carey  was  the  last  in  the  procession. 
As  she  passed  through  the  door,  her  glance  fell  full  on  a 
man  standing  a  little  to  one  side,  and  gazing  at  her  in 
tently.  She  faltered,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Jawkins,  when  did  you  arrive?  Welcome 
to  court, ' '  she  cried  in  a  cordial,  conciliatory  tone,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

Jawkins  bowed  stiffly,  not  seeming  to  see  Mrs.  Carey's 
hand.  "Yes,  I  am  come,"  he  answered,  "but  small 
thanks  to  you,  madam. ' ' 

Dissimulation  was  not  one  of  Jawkins' s  accomplishments. 

' '  This  is  no  place  for  a  scene, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  If  you  wish  an  interview  with  me  there  will  be  an  oppor 
tunity  later.  The  drawing-room  begins  at  ten.  You  will 
see  me  there."  She  smiled  and  showed  her  teeth  ravish- 
ingly,  despite  the  serious  purport  of  her  words. 

"  It  is  the  King  I  wish  to  see,  Mrs.  Carey,  not  you," 
Jawkins  replied  significantly. 

"Ah,  indeed?"  said  the  beauty,  and  she  followed  the 
Princess  up  the  staircase. 

The  rest  of  the  royal  party  remained  only  a  few  minutes 
in  the  dining-room.  The  King  enjoyed  a  stroll  through 
the  corridor  after  dinner.  He  liked  to  chat  with  the 
habitues  of  the  hotel  and  watch  the  billiard-players.  To 
night  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  young  Paget  were  in 
special  attendance. 


238  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

The  King  stepped  up  to  the  cigar  counter.  "  Some 
thing  mild  and  not  too  expensive,"  said  he. 

The  attendant  indicated  several  brands  for  his  selection. 

*'  Three  for  a  quarter  ?"  asked  the  ex-ruler,  as  he  picked 
up  three  ten-cent  cigars. 

The  man  nodded,  and  the  King,  having  presented  a 
cigar  to  each  of  his  companions,  lit  his  own.  His  eye 
presently  fell  upon  a  pile  of  trunks,  all  of  the  latest  and 
most  improved  manufacture,  and  marked  with  the  letters 
"  J.  J."  "A  new  arrival,  I  see,"  he  said  to  a  denizen 
of  the  hotel  who  knew  everybody,  and  who  derived  pleasure 
from  the  prestige  of  conversing  with  royalty. 

"  Yes,  your  Majesty.  A — a — a  subject  of  yours,  if  I 
mistake  not.  He  signs  himself  '  Jarley  Jawkins,  London/ 
Will  your  Majesty  honor  me  with  a  light  ?" 

"  Jarley  Jawkins  !"  cried  the  King.  "  It  must  be  the 
individual  caterer  of  whose  wealth  we  have  heard  so  much. 
His  attentions  to  my  friends  during  the  interregnum  de 
serve  recognition.  Several  of  them  have  been  saved  from 
absolute  want  by  his  generosity. ' ' 

' '  That  is  the  gentleman, ' '  whispered  the  other,  indicat 
ing  Jawkins,  who  was  smoking  in  apparent  unconscious 
ness  and  watching  a  game  of  pool.  "  I  saw  him  just  now 
talking  with  the  famous  beauty,  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey." 

"  With  Mrs.  Carey?"  exclaimed  the  King.  "I  have 
never  heard  her  speak  of  him."  The  incident  disturbed 
him  little.  He  was  too  much  absorbed  by  the  idea  of  Jaw- 
kins's  wealth.  He  hoped  to  be  able  to  borrow  some  money 
from  him.  He  turned  to  Paget  and  charged  him  to  see  that 
Jawkins  was  invited  to  the  drawing-room  that  evening. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Carey  had  retired  to  her  own  chamber, 
which  she  was  pacing  in  some  perturbation  of  spirit.  The 


AT  THE   COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.          ?39 

presence  of  Jawkins  was  a  veritable  spectre  at  the  feast. 
The  expression  of  his  face  haunted  her.  She  felt  certain 
that  he  meant  mischief.  What  was  it  he  purposed  to  do  ? 
He  had  asked  to  see  the  King.  Probably  he  had  discov 
ered  that  it  was  she  who  betrayed  the  conspiracy  to  the 
government,  and  was  determined  to  revenge  himself  by 
exposing  her.  She  smiled  at  the  thought,  and  the  picture 
rose  before  her  of  the  monarch  pouring  out  protestations 
of  love  at  her  feet  on  the  night  when  that  band  of  gallant 
gentlemen  were  laying  down  their  lives  at  Aldershot  to  re 
store  his  throne.  If  this  was  all  that  Jawkins  had  where 
with  to  prejudice  her  with  the  King,  she  need  not  fear  the 
astute  manager.  But  she  could  not  feel  wholly  free  from 
dread.  She  was  aware  that  Jarley  Jawkins  was  not  a  man 
to  be  trifled  with. 

She  went  down  to  the  parlor  where  the  royal  reception 
was  to  be  held,  so  as  to  be  in  time  to  receive  her  own 
guests.  It  was  early,  and  no  one  had  yet  arrived.  The 
windows  were  open  in  order  to  cool  the  atmosphere.  The 
floor  had  been  covered  with  white  linen  drugget.  At  one 
end  of  the  room,  on  a  dais,  stood  a  throne.  A  grand 
piano  was  in  a  corner.  A  colored  waiter  put  his  head  in 
side  the  door,  and,  announcing  that  the  musicians  had 
arrived,  inquired  if  they  were  to  tune  up  at  once. 

"  You  must  see  the  Lord  Chamberlain,"  answered  Mrs. 
Carey.  She  felt  sad  this  evening,  and  the  tawdry  character 
of  this  entertainment  was  contrasted  in  her  mind  with  the 
traditions  of  drawing-rooms  at  Buckingham  Palace. 

A  cornet-player,  a  fiddler,  and  a  female  pianist  entered, 
and  the  squeak  of  their  instruments  in  process  of  recon 
struction  soon  jarred  upon  her  nerves.  She  started  to 
leave  the  room,  but  encountered  the  Princess  Henrietta 


240  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

and  her  maids  of  honor  at  the  door,  who  each  regarded  her 
with  a  haughty  look.  One  or  two  peers  were  loitering  in 
the  corridor  putting  on  their  gloves.  At  its  further  end  a 
group  of  chambermaids  were  ensconced  to  view  the 
arrivals.  The  musicians  struck  up  "  Rule  Britannia,"  and 
Mrs.  Carey,  looking  back,  saw  that  the  ladies  had  seated 
themselves.  The  reception  was  about  to  begin.  She 
joined  the  others,  and  the  nobility  speedily  arrived.  Be 
fore  many  minutes  the  King  appeared,  attended  by  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  a  fuzzy  little  man  in  red  stockings  and 
pumps,  and  mounted  the  throne. 

"  God  save  George  the  Fifth,  King  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,  Emperor  of  India,  Sultan  of  Egypt,  and  Defender 
of  the  Faith,"  cried  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and  the  draw 
ing-room  began.  It  was  the  Chamberlain's  duty  to  present 
to  the  sovereign  each  person  who  had  never  been  at  court 
before.  Invitations  had  been  sent  to  all  Englishmen  in 
the  city  and  to  certain  carefully  selected  Americans.  The 
guests  began  to  arrive  rapidly,  and  in  half  an  hour  the 
apartment  was  filled.  All  the  English  people  wore  regular 
court  costume,  but  the  strangers  were  permitted,  as  a 
special  favor,  to  appear  in  ordinary  evening  dress.  The 
duty  of  introducing  the  Americans  devolved  upon  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  hotel. 

Mrs.  Carey  kept  on  the  lookout  for  her  friends.  About 
10.30  and  an  instant,  among  the  names  announced,  she 
heard  "Mr.  Abraham  Windsor,  Miss  Windsor."  It  was 
as  if  she  had  received  an  electric  shock.  She  had  neg 
lected  to  inquire  who  were  to  'compose  the  party.  For  an 
instant  she  was  too  surprised  to  think,  then  she  looked  and 
saw  the  King  talking  with  evident  admiration  to  her  pretty 
rival.  Her  hate  returned,  and  with  it  the  wound  of  her 


AT  THE  COURT  OF  ST.    JAMES.  241 

despised  love  bled  afresh.  Stepping  forward,  she  said  in 
her  most  congratulatory  tones,  ' '  How  charming  !  we  meet 
again,  Miss  Windsor,  but  under  different  circumstances. " 
There  was  a  suppressed  triumph  in  her  tone.  The  young 
girl  had  to  take  the  proffered  hand,  but  it  was  plain 
enough  to  Mrs.  Carey  that  if  Maggie  had  known  whom 
she  was  to  encounter  at  court  the  meeting  would  never 
have  taken  place.  Their  eyes  met,  and  in  those  of  the 
American  there  was  scorn  and  pride.  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Carey,"  was  all  she  said. 

Her  father  came  to  Maggie's  rescue.  "Why,  Mrs. 
Carey,  your  most  obedient  !  This  is  like  old  times,"  and 
he  proceeded  to  monopolize  the  beauty. 

"  Isn't  she  entrancing  !"  whispered  the  aesthetic  maiden, 
Mrs.  Carey's  friend,  in  Miss  Windsor's  ear. 

'  *  I  have  met  her  before, ' '  she  said,  quietly. 

'  *  Have  you  !     Oh,  in  England,  of  course. ' ' 

But  Maggie  did  not  heed  her  words.  The  noise  of 
voices  at  the  door  attracted  her  attention.  The  crowd  was 
giving  way  before  the  wand  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and 
it  was  evident  from  the  commotion  that  something  unusual 
was  about  to  take  place.  She  looked  and  saw  two  men  ad 
vance  with  eager  step  and  fall  on  bended  knee  at  the  foot 
of  the  throne  amid  a  buzz  of  excitement. 

1 '  My  Sovereign  and  my  King, ' '  they  cried  together. 

"  Rise,  Duke,  rise,"  said  George  the  Fifth,  wiping  with 
genuine  emotion  his  watery  eyes,  and  he  stepped  down  to 
clasp  the  hands  of  an  old  man  with  a  bald  head,  whom 
Maggie  recognized  to  be  the  Duke  of  Bayswater. 

' '  Rise,  Featherstone,  rise, ' '  said  the  King  to  the  other. 

* '  Most  Gracious  Sovereign,  I  kiss  your  hand. ' ' 
Featherstone  it  was,  and  he  pressed  his  lips  against  the 


242  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

knuckles  of  the  sometime  King ;  but  the  words  were 
spoken  coldly,  like  words  of  duty.  Lost  in  amazement  at 
this  unusual  scene,  Miss  Windsor  had  failed  to  observe  a 
young  man  follow  soberly  and  even  sadly  in  the  footsteps 
of  the  other  two  and  stand  aloof,  though  expectantly. 
Her  eyes  and  those  of  the  King  must  have  fallen  upon  him 
almost  at  the  same  moment.  The  heart  in  her  bosom 
leapt  wildly.  Pale  and  worn  as  he  was,  she  recognized 
Geoffrey  Ripon. 

' '  Lord  Brompton  ! ' '  exclaimed  the  King,  and  he  grew 
confused,  for  the  peer  did  not  kneel  as  the  others  had 
done.  "  Lord  Brompton,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  and  he 
remounted  the  throne. 

"  Sire,  I  have  come  to  bring  you  a  legacy  from  John 
Dacre, ' '  said  Ripon,  and  he  drew  from  his  breast  as  he 
spoke  a  smoke-stained  and  tattered  piece  of  the  royal  ban 
ner  and  laid  it  at  the  foot  of  the  throne.  ' '  This  is  from 
Aldershot,  sir." 

A  murmur  spread  through  the  room,  and  the  color 
mounted  to  the  King's  face.  "  Sirrah,  I  do  not  under 
stand  you.  I  am  your  King." 

"  As  for  myself, "  said  Geoffrey,  without  regarding  the 
monarch's  frown,  "  I  return  this,  which  my  ancestor  more 
than  a  century  ago  first  unsheathed  in  fealty  to  the  House 
of  Hanover. "  He  took  from  its  scabbard  the  sword  with 
which  Maggie  had  girded  him  that  day  when  he  courted 
her  in  the  haunted  chamber  of  Ripon  House,  and  snapped 
the  blade  in  twain.  He  flung  the  pieces  on  the  ground 
and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  At  the  first  step  he  en 
countered  the  glance  of  the  woman  he  loved  bent  upon 
him  with  an  expression  in  which  pride  and  tenderness  were 
strangely  intermingled.  He  bowed  low  to  her,  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

TWO    CARDS    PLAYED. 

THE  morning  following  the  scene  with  Ripon,  his 
Majesty  was  in  an  ill-temper.  The  events  of  the  evening 
were  not  pleasant  to  remember  ;  then  the  King  had  lost 
largely  at  poker,  and  had  passed  a  sleepless  night.  Mrs. 
Carey  had  sent  word  that  she  had  not  recovered  from  her 
fainting  fit,  and  was  not  yet  visible.  Old  Bugbee's  prom 
ised  remittance  had  not  arrived.  And  the  entire  court 
joined  in  what  seemed  a  deliberate  effort  to  make  things 
generally  disagreeable.  The  pages  who  were  on  duty  at 
the  royal  toilet  came  in  for  some  bad  moments  ;  and 
young  Lord  Gladstone  Churchill  privately  confided  to 
Paran  Paget  that  he  had  never  seen  the  old  man  in  such  a 
devil  of  a  wax. 

It  seemed  to  the  King  that  times  had  sadly  changed 
from  the  regency  of  his  grandfather.  Nobody  had  ever 
ventured  to  argue  with  him  about  the  desirability  of  the 
company  he  chose  to  keep.  But  now  Wellington,  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  had 
as  much  as  told  King  George  that  he  must  break  with 
Mrs.  Carey.  It  was  hard  if  he  couldn't  have  his  own  way 
even  in  the  little  court  at  the  South  End.  True,  the  papers 
had  been  full  of  Mrs.  Carey  these  three  months — the  last 


244  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Sunday  Globe  had  contained  a  grand  plan  of  her  own  and 
the  royal  apartments,  and  the  Advertiser  of  the  following 
day  had  printed,  without  apparent  reason,  an  editorial 
upon  Mademoiselle  de  la  VaHiere.  But  the  King  consid 
ered  it  highly  impertinent  of  American  journals  to  make 
any  personal  comment  whatever  upon  majesty,  and  had 
almost  burst  a  blood-vessel  when  approached  soon  after  his 
arrival  by  an  interviewer  from  the  New  York  Herald. 

Still,  there  was  one  ugly  fact  remaining — Mrs,  Carey's 
fainting  fit.  What  could  have  frightened  her  into  that  ? 
Not  Lord  Brompton,  with  all  his  rhodomontade — the  King 
liked  to  call  it  rhodomontade  ;  it  soothed  a  certain  uneasy 
feeling  he  had  had  at  times  about  his  own  part  in  the 
affair.  Brompton  was  ardent  enough,  but  he  was  not  well 
balanced  ;  he  was  impracticable ;  he  did  not  properly 
sense  the  feeling  of  the  times,  but  was  eager  to  force  an 
opportunity.  Well,  well — where  was  Mrs.  Carey  ?  It  was 
audience  time,  and  he  meant  to  have  her  receive,  with  the 
ladies  in  waiting.  He  rang  the  bell,  and  a  page  entered 
with  a  card.  The  King  looked  at  it,  surprised  ;  the  card 
was  something  between  an  ordinary  visiting  card  and  a 
tradesman's  circular  : 


[COAT  OF  ARMS.] 

JARLEY  JAWKINS, 

MASTER  OF  SOCIAL  CEREMONIES 

and 

PURVEYOR  OF  GUESTS 
To  His  MAJESTY  THE  KING. 


TWO    CARDS  PLAYED.  245 

The  King  threw  himself  upon  the  throne — it  was  a  fine 
old  carved  oak  chair,  one  which  had  come  over  in  the 
Mayflower — and  waited. 

Jawkins  entered,  bowing  low.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  met  his  Majesty  face  to  face.  As  he  slowly  ap 
proached  the  throne  his  knees  bent  at  their  hinges,  until 
with  the  last  step  they  touched  the  floor  with  a  heavy  thud 
(Jawkins  was  a  portly  little  man)  as  he  kissed  the  royal 
hand  that  was  kindly  extended.  When  he  rose,  which  was 
with  considerable  difficulty,  he  backed  slowly  away.  As 
he  saw  no  chair  and  did  not  dare  to  turn  around,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  continue  backing  ;  which  he  did, 
until  he  brought  up  with  a  crash  against  a  large  photograph 
of  Niagara  that  was  hanging  on  the  wall  of  the  chamber. 
Here  he  stood  looking  at  the  King,  but  hardly  within 
speaking  distance. 

"  Mr.  Jawkins,  I  believe?" 

"Sir,  yes,"  said  Jawkins,  who  did  not  like  to  say 
"  Yes,  sir,"  as  being  too  colloquial. 

' '  We  have  often  heard  of  you,  Jawkins,  and  favorably, ' ' 
the  monarch  went  on.  '  *  I  understand  that  several  of  our 
poorer  gentlemen  are  indebted  to  your  exertions  for  their 
— ahem — pocket  money. ' ' 

Jawkins  smiled.  "  Well,  sir,  I  flatter  myself  I  have 
been  the  discoverer  of  retiring  talent  to  some  extent.  But 
the  money  obligation  is  mutual,  sir — mutual."  And 
Jawkins  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  slap  his  pockets. 

' '  Dear  me, ' '  said  George  the  Fifth,  ' '  dear  me.  You 
must  be  very  rich.  Is — is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you,  Mr.  Jawkins?" 

Jawkins's  manner  suddenly  changed,  and  he  became 
again  the  serious  man  of  affairs.  "  Yes,  your  Majesty — 


246  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

there  is  something  I  wish  to — to  suggest — merely  suggest 
to  your  Majesty."  The  King  was  silent,  and  Jawkins 
wiped  his  bald  head  with  a  handkerchief.  His  small 
head,  ordinarily  of  the  shape  and  color  of  a  ripe  cherry, 
took  a  still  deeper  red  as  he  stammered  for  words  with 
which  to  proceed.  Finally  he  spoke  ;  humbly,  in  a  man 
ner  almost  servile,  but  fixed  and  cool. 

"  I  have — to  beg  your  Majesty — to  consider — the  pro 
priety — of  keeping  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  at  court. ' ' 

The  King  stared  stonily  at  Jawkins,  who  cowered  close 
to  the  wall,  but  went  on. 

"  After  what  happened  at  Aldershot  ?" 

11  Aldershot!" 

Jawkins  saw  that  he  had  arrested  the  King's  attention, 
and  went  on,  hurriedly.  "  The  day  was  lost  at  Aldershot 
almost  without  a  blow.  It  was  because  the  enemy  were 
prepared  on  all  sides.  They  had  known  of  the  planned 
rising  for  days.  They  were  armed  and  ready  at  all  points. 
All  the  disaffected  regiments  were  marched  away,  and  with 
them  many  of  the  officers  who  were  in  the  plot.  The 
whole  force  of  the  government  was  at  or  around  Aldershot 
that  day.  The  fleet  was  in  the  river.  Worst  of  all,  the 
secret  of  the  conspiracy  was  carefully  circulated  among  all 
the  officers  on  whom  they  could  rely,  with  instructions  to 
prepare  their  men,  even  to  sound  them  in  advance.  And 
it  was  Mrs.  Carey  herself  who  carried  the  information  to 
the  government." 

"  Impossible."     The  King  made  as  if  to  rise. 

"  One  moment  more,  your  Majesty — just  a  moment. 
I  knew  all  this  almost  at  the  time.  Mrs.  Carey  was 
staying  at  a  country  house  in  one  of  my  parties  when  she 
met  the  leaders  of  the  noble  attempt.  It  was  she  who  bore 


TWO    CARDS  PLAYED.  247 

to  Bagshaw  the  written  evidence  upon  which  Sir  John 
Dacre  was  shot,  and  the  others  condemned  to  prison. 
Think  but  for  one  moment,  your  Majesty,  the  day  might 
still  perhaps  have  been  gained  at  Aldershot,  but  for  one 
thing — the  King  did  not  appear.  Consider,  sir..  Who 
was  it  who  prevented  your  Majesty  from  going  to  Aldershot 
that  day?" 

Jawkins  heard  the  King  mutter  a  curse  to  himself.  He 
hastened  to  complete  his  victory,  and  pulling  out  a  sealed 
document,  unrolled  it,  and  handed  it  to  the  King.  It  was 
the  reappointment,  signed  by  Bagshaw,  of  Oswald  Carey  to 
the  Stamp  and  Sealing- Wax  Office. 

"  This,  your  Majesty,  was  handed  to  me  by  President 
Bagshaw  himself,  to  give  to  Mrs.  Carey,  as  his  private 
agent. ' ' 

King  George  looked  over  it  hastily,  and  then  rising, 
paced  nervously  up  and  down  the  room.  Jawkins*  kept 
silence. 

After  some  minutes  the  King  stopped  in  his  walk. 
"  Well — if  this  be  true — Mrs.  Carey  is  an  agreeable 
woman.  Suppose  I  chose,  without  trusting  her,  to  permit 
her  company — ' ' 

The  King  interrupted  himself  for  a  moment,  as  he 
caught  Jawkins's  eye.  Then  he  resumed  his  walk  hastily. 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  concluded,  "  I  suppose  you  are  right." 

Jawkins  looked  carefully  around  the  room,  and  then 
continued  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Does  your  Majesty  know — 
what  they  say  at  court — that  Mrs.  Carey  wishes  to  be  the 
King's — "  George  stopped  him  with  a  Icok. 

' '  Yes,  yes — I  know  all  that. ' ' 

' '  The  American  divorce  laws  are  very  lax,  they  say, 
Jawkins  went  on,  "  and  if  the  King  were  to  marry  her — " 


248  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Marry  her  !"  thundered  the  King ;  "  God,  man,  what 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"If  I  proved  to  your  Majesty  that  such  was  her 
aim  ?" 

"  She  should  leave  the  court  this  instant" 

"  Will  your  Majesty  permit  me  to  send  for  her  ?" 

Jawkins  rang  the  bell  for  a  messenger. 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  between  Jawkins  and  the 
King,  the  fair  subject  of  their  discussion  was  differently 
engaged.  She,  too,  had  passed  a  sleepless  night.  The 
sight  of  Geoffrey  Ripon  again  had  won  upon  her  strangely, 
and  his  unworldly  speech  had  struck  some  chord  in  the 
depths  of  her  own  heart  now  long  unused.  There  is  no 
greater  error  than  to  suppose  the  evil  beings  of  this  world 
all  one  consistent  evil — that  would  be  to  be  perfect,  as 
Lucifer,  the  father  of  lies,  alone  is  perfect.  Every  life  is 
but  a  sum  of  actions,  and  in  every  action  the  good  and 
evil  motives  are  most  nicely  balanced  at  the  best.  A  slight 
preponderance  of  evil  or  even  some  exaggerated  habit  of 
mind — a  little  over-development  of  pride,  of  ambition,  of 
passion,  a  too  accented  doubt  and  an  overcold  analysis — 
suffices  to  throw  the  decision  on  the  wrong  side  of  every 
case,  so  that  the  outward  life  appears,  perhaps,  one  consis 
tent  darkness  and  wrong.  But  no  one  knows  how  near  at 
every  step  the  noble  impulse  came  to  winning. 

As  Eleanor  Carey  strained  her  beautiful  eyes  in  wakeful 
memories  that  night,  the  one  memory  that  remained  to  her 
was  Geoffrey  Ripon.  When  she  forced  herself  to  close 
them,  and  tried  to  dream,  the  one  dream  was  the  dream  of 
Geoffrey  dying  for  his  friend  and  laying  his  broken  sword 
at  the  feet  of  his  King.  When  she  tried  to  think  of  his 
picture,  the  one  picture  she  could  bear  to  look  upon  was 


TWO   CARDS  PLAYED.  249 

Geoffrey  Ripon.  It  had  come  to  this.  All  the  scheming 
and  the  passion  of  the  world,  and  the  hard  ambition,  the 
cold,  worldly  will  that  lifted  her  almost  to  a  seat  upon  the 
throne — they  brought  her  so  far  and  left  her  at  the  feet  of 
her  old  lover.  This  was  all. 

When  Mrs.  Carey  rose  her  mind  was  made  up — this  time 
shall  we  call  it  for  good  or  evil  ?  Evil,  yes  ;  but  not  the 
same  evil  as  yesterday's,  nor  the  evil  of  to-morrow.  Her 
headache  was  feigned.  Leaving  this  answer  with  her  maid 
to  any  inquiries,  she  stepped  out  in  the  early  morning  into 
the  streets.  It  was  not  hard  for  her  to  find  out  Geoffrey's 
hotel.  It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  April,  before  the  east 
wind  had  sprung  up  from  the  sea,  and  as  she  passed 
through  the  gardens  the  crocuses  and  the  little  blue  flowers 
looked  up  to  her  as  if  they  smiled — as  if  they,  too, 
remembered  other  days.  Mrs.  Carey  drew  her  veil  about 
her  face  and  walked  the  faster. 

Geoffrey  had  got  up  that  morning  as  one  who  arises  in  a 
world  that  is  void.  His  mission  to  see  the  King  was 
ended  ;  now  there  was  nothing  left.  He  owed  to  Mar 
garet  Windsor  his  liberty  ;  with  that  gift  she  had  richly 
given  all  that  his  friendship  could  claim.  And  at  the  time 
she  had  nobly  told  him,  frankly,  kindly,  like  a  true 
American  woman,  that  here  it  all  must  end.  She  was  to 
be  married  ;  and  he,  Geoffrey  Ripon,  was  left — free.  But 
he  loved  her  still  ;  he  loved  her,  and  there  was  no  hope  in 
it.  What,  then,  was  left  to  him  ?  As  he  bitterly  asked 
the  question  aloud,  some  one  opened  the  door  of  his  room. 
Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  entered. 

"Mrs.  Carey!" 

"Geoffrey!" 

Both  were  silent,  and  each  stood  looking  at  the  other. 


250  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Never  had  she  been  more  beautiful  than  then.  Her  old 
self-possession  had  gone  ;  there  was  a  feminine  weakness 
in  her  attitude,  or  quiver  of  the  limbs,  a  heaving  of  the 
breast  that  made  her  seem  different  from  the  Mrs.  Carey  of 
late  years,  and  beneath  the  long,  trembling  lashes  he  saw 
her  eyes  glorious  with  the  glamour  as  of  youth,  tenfold 
more  potent  For  a  long  time,  it  seemed,  he  stood  look 
ing  at  her.  At  last  her  strength  seemed  to  give  way,  and 
sinking  into  a  chair  she  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it. 
Then  Geoffrey  broke  from  her. 

' '  This  is  no  place  for  you, ' '  he  said,  coldly. 

"  Geoffrey,  I  have  come  to  tell  you  again  how  I  loved 
you.  I  ought  never  to  have  left  you.  You  will  not  cast 
me  off  from  you  now?"  She  spoke  pleadingly,  and 
stretched  out  one  white  arm  as  if  to  draw  him  to  her. 
' '  The  American  girl  whom  you  thought  you  loved  is  mar 
ried.  We  have  only  each  other,  Geoffrey,  now.  You 
know  you  loved  me  once. ' '  She  rose  to  her  full  height, 
and  looked  deep  into  his  eyes,  her  own  on  a  level  with  his. 
' '  See, ' '  she  faltered,  ' '  I  leave  a  king  for  you. ' '  And  she 
drew  forth  a  little  miniature  of  George  the  Fifth  and  flung 
it  on  the  floor  at  his  feet. 

If  Geoffrey  had  ever  hesitated,  it  was  not  now,  though 
Maggie  Windsor  was  lost  to  him,  and  then  she  had  loved 
him.  That  was  in  the  old,  weak  days  of  his,  before 
Dacre's  death.  *'  If  Maggie  Windsor  is  married,  God 
bless  her!"  he  replied,  simply.  Then,  walking  to  the 
door,  he  rang  the  bell. 

Mrs.  Carey  fell  back  upon  the  chair  crying.  Geoffrey 
left  the  room.  A  minute  after  he  had  gone  she  rose,  and 
drying  her  tears,  went  to  the  entrance  of  the  hotel,  where 
she  called  a  carriage  and  drove  back  to  the  Court  of  St. 


TWO    CARDS  PLAYED.  251 

James.     She  went    directly   into  the   King's  anterooms. 
No  one  was  there  but  Jawkins. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Carey — just  in  time  to  remind  you  of  our 
little  compact,"  said  he.  As  she  looked  at  him,  he  stood, 
smiling  grossly,  vulgar,  sensual,  mean.  All  the  years  of 
her  debasement  came  to  her  memory  with  a  new  sting  to 
her  wounded  pride,  and  she  swept  on,  ignoring  him. 

"  Come,  come,  Eleanor — among  old  friends,  this  won't 
do,  you  know.  Give  me  your  hand.  Let's  see— what's 
the  price  to  kiss  it  now?  It  used  to  cost  five  shillings." 
And  Jawkins  imprinted  an  attempted  kiss,  clumsily,  upon 
the  palm  of  the  hand.  *  *  When  do  you  leave  the  court  ? 
They  don't  like  you  here  overmuch,  I  fancy.  But  you've 
been  well  advertised. ' ' 

Mrs  Carey  lost  control  of  herself  for  the  first  time  that  day. 

4 '  How  dare  you  speak  thus  to  me  ?  I,  who  was — who 
am  your — " 

"  Oswald  Carey's  wife,"  Jawkins  spoke  contemptuously. 

"  Your  King's  wife  !"  cried  Mrs.  Carey.  Jawkins 
laughed  and  threw  back  a  curtain.  Behind  it  stood  the 
King.  He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  waved  her  from  him 
with  his  hand.  She  looked  at  him  a  minute  or  two,  but 
then  left  the  room.  As  the  door  closed  behind  her  the 
King  looked  up. 

"Well,  Jawkins,  it's  done." 

41  Yes,  your  Majesty.  " 

"  She  was  a  devilish  fine  woman. "  Jawkins  started  to  go. 

"  Stay,  Jawkins,  a  moment  Ah  !  you  told  me  you  had 
made  a  good  mint  out  of —  Are  you  in  funds  over  here  ?" 

"  Quite,  your  Majesty." 

"  Jawkins,  my  bankers  are  devilish  slow.  I  wish  you 
could  manage  to  advance  me  a  few  thousands  or  so. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
A  WOMAN'S  END. 

THE  great  cafe  of  the  Trimountain  Hotel  is  one  of 
those  interiors  which  can  only  be  seen  in  America.  Lit  at 
night  by  a  single  electric  glow,  softened  and  unified  in 
passing  through  the  ground-glass  ceiling,  it  is  brilliant  with 
mirrors  and  cut-glass  and  china.  At  one  end  of  the  room 
is  the  long  bar,  glittering  with  all  that  can  make  a  bar 
attractive,  served  by  a  score  or  more  of  the  prettiest  of  bar 
maids  ;  along  the  sides  of  the  room  are  rows  of  little  tables 
in  carved  oak  and  cherry,  each  unlike  the  other,  each  a 
work  of  art ;  in  the  corners  and  upon  the  walls  is  a  collec 
tion  of  paintings  and  statuary  hardly  rivalled  in  any  of  the 
private  mansions  of  Boston.  The  centre  of  the  room,  save 
for  a  fountain  playing  in  a  jungle  of  flowering  vines,  vio 
lets,  and  rare  orchids,  is  a  polished  expanse  of  inlaid  floor, 
where  one  may  walk  and  smoke. 

As  Geoffrey  walked  in  he  passed  the  news-stand  by  the 
door.  Here  are  shown  the  photographs  of  the  favorites  or 
celebrities  of  the  day,  etchings  of  the  latest  pictures,  play 
bills  of  the  theatres  and  operas,  pictures  of  women  and 
horses.  Everywhere  about  that  day  he  was  met  by  the 
semblance  of  the  woman  he  had  just  seen  ;  photographs  in 
every  size  and  attitude,  in  every  dress,  colored,  plain  ;  taken 
in  street  dress,  in  house  dress,  in  dinner  dress,  in  robe  de 


A    WOMAN'S  END.  253 

chambre,  full  length  and  half  length,  high-necked,  low- 
necked,  very  low-necked  ;  on  the  handkerchief  boxes  and 
the  perfumery  cases  were  still  gaudier  pictures,  with  the 
Carey  collar,  the  Carey  perfume,  the  King's  favorite  ciga 
rette,  and  whatever  else  had  any  use  or  service  for  a  pretty 
woman.  Geoffrey  noticed  all  these  things  as  he  passed 
on,  but  was  struck  a  moment  later  by  the  appearance  of  a 
man  he  thought  he  knew. 

The  man  wore  the  dress  of  a  gentleman,  but  travel- 
stained  and  untidy  ;  he  was  sitting  alone  at  one  of  the 
little  tables,  with  head  bowed  down  upon  his  breast ; 
before  him  stood  glasses  and  a  crystal  decanter  half  rilled 
with  brandy.  Geoffrey  started  with  surprise,  and  would 
have  turned  back,  but  the  man  saw  him  and  recognized 
him.  It  was  Oswald  Carey. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  a  minute  without 
speaking.  Finally  Carey  spoke,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  not  his 
own  of  older  days  : 

"  Have  you  seen  my  wife  ?" 

Geoffrey  started,  less  at  the  question  than  at  the  manner 
in  which  it  was  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Where  is  she  ?     At  the  palace — at  the  court  ?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Damn  her, ' '  said  Carey. 

Geoffrey  was  silent. 

"  Where  did  you  see  her  last  ?"  muttered  the  other. 

41  Here— in  this  hotel." 

"  In  this  hotel?" 

"  This  morning." 

"  Is  she — is  she  not  with  the  King  ?" 

"  I  believe — I  do  not  know,"  answered  Geoffrey.      He 


254  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

turned  to  go.  As  he  looked  at  the  other,  standing  there, 
white-faced,  worn,  with  the  glitter  in  his  reddened  eyes, 
this  man  whom  he  had  scorned,  there  was  something  in 
him  like  the  ruin  of  a  man  after  all.  Geoffrey,  too,  was 
alone,  and  his  heart  warmed  to  him.  It  was  he  who  had 
married  Eleanor  Leigh,  not  Geoffrey.  ' '  Carey, ' '  said  he, 
' '  you  can  do  nothing  here.  I  am  going  to  the  West. 
Come  with  me." 

Carey  looked  at  Ripon,  puzzled  ;  then,  with  a  broken 
sob,  he  grasped  his  hand  and  staggered  to  his  seat.  Ripon 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  man  was  crazy  with  drink. 

'  *  Thank  you, ' '  said  he.  "I  must  stay.  I  have  some 
thing  to  do  here  first.  You  know  that  she  betrayed  you  ? 
that  it  was  her  treason  condemned  you  and  Dacre  ?' ' 

Geoffrey  nodded. 

"  And  you,  Ripon" — Carey  pulled  the  other  close  to  his 
lips  and  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper — "you  are  the  only 
man  that  woman  ever  loved.  I  know  it. ' ' 

Geoffrey  could  make  no  answer.     Again  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

Geoffrey  smiled  and  waved  his  hand  vaguely.  ' '  To  the 
West." 

"Why? — I  thought — you  came  over  in  Windsor's 
yacht — "  The  other  stopped,  embarrassed.  Geoffrey  was 
touched  by  his  interest. 

4 '  Carey,  will  you  give  me  a  glass  of  your  brandy  ?' ' 

Geoffrey  poured  it  out.      "-Miss  Windsor  is  married." 

' '  Who  told  you  so  ?' ' 

"  Your  wife." 

Carey  brought  his  fist  down  shivering  on  the  table. 
"  And  you  believe  her  ?" 

' '  Miss  Windsor  told  me  almost  as  much  herself. ' ' 


A    WOMAN'S  END.  255 

"  Almost  !"  Carey  burst  into  a  wild  laugh.  "  Here's 
to  her  !"  he  cried,  holding  up  his  glass.  "  Ripon,  you 
are  the  last  gentleman  who  will  ever  drink  with  me.  I 
suspect  you  are  the  only  one  who  would  now.  And  here's 
my  last  toast :  Long  life  to  your  wife — and  death  to  mine. 
Damn  her  !  Can't  you  see  she  lied  ?" 

Carey  rose  from  the  table  and  staggered  out  of  the  room. 
It  was  already  the  afternoon  of  a  garish,  shadeless  day,  and 
people  stopped  to  look  at  Carey's  terrible  pace  as  he  strode 
along  the  sidewalk.  As  Ripon  had  seen,  he  was  insane 
with  drink,  or  would  have  been  but  for  one  dominant 
thought  in  his  mind. 

As  Carey  walked  along  the  busy  street,  hardly  a  shop 
window,  not  a  bookstore,  not  an  ignoble  news-stand,  but 
had  displayed  his  wife's  picture.  It  was  Mrs.  Carey,  Mrs. 
Oswald  Carey,  Mrs.  Carey  and  the  ex-King,  everywhere. 
One  infamous  pictorial  publication  had  a  bare-necked  por 
trait  of  the  "  notorious  Eleanor  Carey"  side  by  side  with 
that  of  "  Jim  Dingan,  the  Lynn  pugilist."  As  he  entered 
Washington  Street,  the  newsboys  were  crying,  "Horrible 
crime  in  New  York  !  Scandal  in  high  life  !  Mrs.  Carey 
leaves  the  court  !"  and  Carey  read  the  caption  outlined  on 
the  bulletin  boards. 

He  felt  in  his  coat  pocket,  where  he  carried  a  small 
revolver  he  had  purchased,  and  hurried  along  more  rapidly. 
His  gait  was  quick  and  firm  as  an  athlete's  on  the  course. 
No  trace  of  intoxication  now. 

He  reached  the  St.  James  and  asked  a  page  to  be 
directed  to  Mrs.  Carey's  apartment.  The  boy  grinned  at 
first,  but  was  silent  at  a  word  from  Carey  and  led  him  the 
way.  When  they  reached  her  door,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
series  of  corridors  and  stairs,  the  page  wished  to  announce 


256  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

him,  but  Carey  pushed  him  aside  roughly  and  opened  the 
door.  His  fingers  were  clinched  upon  the  pistol  in  his 
pocket ;  his  plan  was  to  ask  her  one  question,  and  then, 
while  she  was  hesitating  about  her  answer,  to  kill  her. 

The  drawing-room  was  a  large  apartment,  vulgarly  fur 
nished  in  a  style  gone  by.  A  marble  clock  was  on  the 
mantel,  and  a  photograph  of  the  King.  Carey  pressed 
through  into  the  bedroom.  No  one  was  there.  Bits  of 
lace  and  muslin  were  scattered  about  the  floor,  and  one  or 
two  garments  lying  on  the  chairs  as  if  hastily  thrown  aside. 
Carey  thoroughly  examined  the  rooms  and  then  turned 
back  to  the  page. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Carey  ?     Do  you  know  ?" 

"  I  do  not.  I  heard  that  she  was  about  to  leave  the 
court." 

Carey  turned  away,  and,  leaving  the  hotel,  took  a  car 
riage  and  drove  to  the  railway  station.  A  train  had  just 
left  for  New  York.  At  the  news-stand  was  the  usual  col 
lection  of  her  pictures  on  sale.  Carey  spoke  to  the  boy  in 
charge,  pointing  to  a  photograph. 

"  Have  you  seen  that  woman  go  by  here  to-day  ?" 

' '  Yes,  sir  ;  I  see  that  woman  go  by  here  not  twenty 
minutes  ago.  That's  the  beauty,  Mrs.  Carey,  that  is. 
There  was  another  woman  with  her,  and  a  man." 

Her  maid,  probably.  But  who  could  the  man  be? 
Carey  found  the  next  train  for  New  York  did  not  leave  till 
evening.  He  waited  in  the  station  for  it,  and  arrived  in 
that  city  at  midnight.  It  was  too  late  to  get  any  trace  of 
his  wife  that  night. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  began  the  search,  but  it  was  all 
of  no  avail.  His  wife  had  apparently  stopped  at  none  of 
the  hotels.  A  certain  lady  looking  like  her  had  been  seen 


A    WOMAN'S  END.  257 

at  a  small  hotel  on  the  Fifth  Avenue,  but  she  had  been 
with  a  gentleman,  and  their  names  were  registered  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Copley  Hutchinson,  of  Boston. 

Carey  wondered  whether  she  could  have  left  the  city. 
Several  European  steamers  had  sailed  or  were  to  sail  that 
day,  and  he  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  the  docks  searching 
them.  All  the  papers,  all  the  shops,  were  full  of  his  wife 
and  her  movements  ;  he  alone  knew  nothing  of  them. 

As  he  walked  back,  up  Broadway,  he  looked  at  the 
bulletin  boards.  He  had  a  habit  of  doing  this  now.  In 
front  of  the  Herald  office  they  were  changing  the  bulletin, 
and  he  waited  a  moment  to  see.  The  first  line  on  the  new 
broadside  he  read  aloud  : 

*  *  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  sails  for  Brazil. ' ' 

Carey  went  in  and  bought  a  copy  of  the  newspaper.  In 
it  he  found  the  sailing-list  of  the  City  of  Rio,  and  there 
the  first  name  was  ' '  Mrs.  Oswald  Carey  and  maid,  "and 
then,  just  below,  "  Jarley  Jawkins." 

Carey  stood  on  the  sidewalk  several  minutes,  like  a 
statue.  Then,  slowly  crumpling  up  the  newspaper  in  his 
hand,  he  threw  it  in  the  gutter.  That  night  he  was  a  pas 
senger  in  the  emigrant  train  for  the  North-west. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  FROM    CHAIN   TO   CHAIN/' 

"MR.  WINDSOR,"  said  the  Duke  of  Bayswater  to  his 
host,  as  the  two  were  sitting  in  the  library  of  the  latter' s 
house  in  Boston,  ' '  I  have  received  to-day  a  letter  from  our 
poor  friend  Sydney  from  my  late  residence,  Dartmoor 
Prison.  It  is  exceedingly  interesting  to  me." 

' '  Poor  fellow, ' '  answered  Mr.  Windsor.  '  *  What  a  pity 
it  was  that  we  could  not  effect  his  escape  with  the  rest  of 
you.  How  does  he  bear  up  ?' ' 

"Ah!  pretty  well,  pretty  well,"  answered  the  Duke, 
rubbing  his  gold-bowed  spectacles  with  a  white  silk  hand 
kerchief.  "  But  still,  I  must  say  that  the  poor  fellow 
seems  very  down-hearted.  Shall  I  read  you  his  letter  ?' ' 

Mr.  Windsor  bowed  assent,  and  the  Duke  adjusted  his 
spectacles  to  his  sharp  aquiline  nose,  and  read,  in  faltering 
tones  : 

"  DARTMOOR  PRISON,  198-. 

"  DEAR  DUKE  :  I  was  delighted  that  you  all  made  good  escape 
on  that  eventful  night  of  the  fog.  It  is  foolish  to  complain  of 
fate,  or  rather  of  the  life  of  free  living,  which  made  me  have  a 
tendency  to  rheumatic  gout.  As  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  canal 
and  watched  you  then,  as  you  suddenly  disappeared  over  the  hill, 


"FROM  CHAIN  TO   CHAIN."  259 

I  cursed  all  French  cooks  and  vintages,  and  my  roystering  old 
grandfather  to  boot.  But  I  led  the  guard,  who  were  hot  on  your 
scent,  a  devil's  own  dance  when  they  found  that  the  lock  of  the 
last  bridge  was  filled  with  pebbles.  But  I  am  delighted  that  you 
others  escaped  ;  I  could  not  bear  to  imagine  you,  dear  Duke, 
whose  magnificent  hospitality  I  had  enjoyed  in  days  gone  by, 
cramped  in  a  narrow  cell,  or  mopping  up  the  corridors  of  this 
jail." 

The  Duke  broke  down  completely  as  he  remembered 
his  life  at  Dartmoor,  and  Mr.  Windsor  looked  out  of  the 
window  to  conceal  the  smile  which  this  picture  of  his  ven 
erable  old  friend  brought  to  his  mind.  The  Duke,  after 
vigorously  rubbing  his  spectacles  and  clearing  his  throat, 
remarked  : 

"  Excuse  my  stopping,  Mr.  Windsor,  but  poor  Sydney's 
handwriting  never  was  good.  I  remember  I  used  to  tell 
him,  when  he  answered  my  invitations,  that  I  should  have 
imagined  that  a  fly  dipped  in  ink  had  crawled  over  the 
paper."  He  laughed  for  a  moment  at  his  former  moss- 
encrusted  and  ducal  witticism,  and  continued  reading 
Sydney's  letter  : 

"  However,  I  have  become  resigned.  I  was  born  under  an 
unlucky  star,  and  the  uninvited  bad  fairy  at  my  christening,  after 
the  others  had  given  me  beauty,  riches,  and  wit,  hopped  in  malevo 
lently  upon  her  crutch  and  shouted  in  a  disagreeable  falsetto  : 
4  He  shall  have  all  these,  to  be  sure,  but  he  shall  have  a  poor 
digestion  and  the  gout  !  '  and  whirled  away  on  the  evening  wind 
astride  her  broomstick." 

Mr.  Windsor  laughed  out  loud  ;  the  Duke  seemed 
annoyed  at  this,  and,  begging  not  to  be  interrupted  again, 
continued  his  reading  in  a  rather  offended  tone  : 

"  Since  your  escape  I  have  been  under  the  strictest  surveil 
lance,  and  as  I  have  recovered  from  my  gout  I  have  been  set  to 


26o  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

work  upon  the  ignoble  task  of  breaking  stone  into  small  bits  with 
a  hammer.  I  am  known  as  No.  5,  and  am  called  by  no  other 
name.  Imagine  me,  who  found  it  so  difficult  to  look  out  for 
Number  One,  having  to  care  for  No.  5.  Indeed,  I  should  find  it 
well-nigh  impossible  were  it  not  for  the  assistance  which  I  have 
from  the  warders  and  turnkeys,  who  look  after  me  with  a  touch 
ing  solicitude.  No  physician  could  have  kept  me  to  a  regimen  so 
suitable  for  my  health  as  strictly  as  they.  You  remember  how  I 
used  to  enjoy  lying  abed  in  the  morning.  What  a  pleasure  it 
was  to  wake  up,  to  feel  that  the  busy  world  was  astir  around  you, 
and  lie  half  awake,  half  asleep,  stretching  your  toes  into  cool  re 
cesses  of  a  soft,  luxurious  bed.  But  it  made  me  idle,  very  idle. 
But  now  I  must  be  off  my  hard  cot,  be  dressed  and  have  my  cot 
made  up  by  half-past  five  ;  then  I  breakfast  off  a  piece  of  bread, 
washed  down  with  a  pint  of  unsweetened  rye  coffee  innocent  of 
milk,  drunk  au  naturel  out  of  a  tin  pail.  And  how  I  miss  my 
after-breakfast  cigar  and  the  Times,  as  I  put  my  hands  upon  a 
fellow-convict's  shoulder  and  march  in  slow  procession  to  my 
task.  The  work  of  breaking  a  large  piece  of  stone  into  smaller 
bits  with  a  hammer  is  not  an  intellectual  one  ;  but  it  has  got  me 
into  tolerable  training  ;  I  have  lost  twenty  pounds  already,  and 
am,  as  we  used  to  say  at  the  university,  as  '  hard  as  nails.'  I 
am  afraid  that  my  old  trousers,  which  my  tailor  used  to  let  out 
year  by  year,  would  be  a  world  too  large  for  my  shrunk  shanks 
now.  I  dine  at  noon,  as  you  remember,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  do  not  dress  for  dinner  ;  indeed,  a  white  cravat  and  a 
dress  coat  would  be  inappropriate,  when  one  sits  down  to  bean 
porridge  and  boiled  beef  served  in  the  same  tin  plate.  But  I 
have  a  good  appetite  after  my  pulverizing  of  the  morning,  and  I 
am  not  compelled  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar  under  duress.  I  am 
surprised  what  good  things  I  think  of  now  that  I  am  not  expected 
to  and  have  no  one  to  whom  to  say  them.  Jawkins  would  double 
my  salary  could  he  get  me  out.  Rye  coffee  is  a  poor  substitute 
for  Chambertin,  but  it  does  not  aggravate  my  gout.  After 
dinner  I  return  to  my  stone-breaking,  and  feel  with  delight  my 
growing  biceps  muscle,  and  after  my  supper,  which  is  monotonous 
ly  like  my  breakfast,  I  tackle  the  tracts,  which  are  left  with  me  by 


"FROM  CHAIN  TO    CHAIN."  261 

kindly  souls.  They  are  of  a  class  of  literature  which  I  have 
neglected  since  childhood,  having,  as  you  may  remember,  a 
leaning  toward  '  facetiae.'  In  fact,  since  my  great-aunt's  with 
drawal  to  another  world,  where  it  may  be  hoped  that  the  stones 
are  more  brittle  and  the  coffee  better,  I  have  seen  none.  I  can 
not  say  that  I  have  been  comforted  by  the  tracts,  but  I  have  been 
interested  by  them,  and  I  spend  the  brief  hours  of  leisure  which 
are  vouchsafed  to  me  in  annotating  my  editions.  And  yet,  my 
dear  Duke,  unfortunate  as  my  situation  is,  I  would  not  exchange 
places  with  my  old  self,  a  hired  jester  at  rich  men's  tables,  selling 
myself  for  a  dinner  which  I  could  not  digest,  nor  with  that 
wretched  monarch,  in  whose  cause  we  all  suffered,  who  left  his 
gallant  gentleman  to  die  for  his  cause  while  he  pursued  his  self 
ish  pleasures.  If  it  were  chance  that  I  get  out  of  here,  I  shall 
strive  to  earn  my  bread,  in  the  appointed  way,  by  the  sweat  of 
my  brow,  and  to  work  with  my  fellow-men.  Present  my  kindest 
regards  to  our  good  friend  Mr.  Windsor,  who  has  dared  so  much 
for  our  sake,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  old  friend, 
"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  No.  5  (n&  JAMES  SYDNEY)." 

The  Duke,  when  he  had  finished  reading  the  letter, 
folded  it  carefully,  and  returned  it  into  his  pocket.  His 
eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  his  voice  broke  as  he  read  the 
quaint,  pathetic  words. 

Mr.  Windsor  slapped  his  bony  knee  energetically,  and 
arose  from  his  chair. 

"  I  must  try  to  set  the  poor  fellow  free,"  he  said  ener 
getically.  "  I  do  not  believe  that  a  forcible  prison  delivery 
would  be  successful  again,  when  our  former  attempt  is  so 
fresh  in  the  mind  of  the  prison  governor  ;  but  the  presiden 
tial  election  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  is  approaching, 
and  if  I  judge  the  signs  of  the  times  aright,  the  Radicals 
under  Bagshaw  will  enter  the  campaign  heavily  weighted. 
If  the  Liberal-Conservatives  put  up  such  a  man  as  Richard 


262  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

Lincoln  they  will  re-elect  him,  and  if  the  administration  is 
changed,  diplomacy  and  entreaty  may  accomplish  a  general 
release  of  political  prisoners.  The  cause  of  the  House  of 
Hanover  is  so  dead  that,  as  Mother  Goose  says  : 

"  '  All  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men, 
Couldn't  set  Humpty  Dumpty  up  again.' 

By  the  way,  I  believe  they  call  George  King  Humpty 
Dumpty  in  the  comic  papers." 

The  Duke  smiled  ruefully  ;  in  his  heart  he  despised  the 
King,  and  faintly  saw  that  his  class  had  lost  their  priv 
ileges,  but  he  could  not  get  used  to  it.  He  knew  that  he 
was  a  broken  old  man,  an  exile  from  home,  and  dependent 
upon  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Windsor  ;  and  he  sighed  deeply, 
wishing  that  he  had  died  before  the  deluge  which  had 
gulfed  all  that  was  holy  and  precious  to  him. 

Mr.  Windsor  saw  that  his  thoughts  were  too  sad  and 
solemn  for  an  alien  intrusion,  and  left  the  old  gentleman, 
still  motionless,  looking  vacantly  at  the  wall.  The  old 
Duke  saw  no  Mount  Ararat  rising  from  the  troubled 
waters  ;  all  that  made  life  worth  living  for  him  had  passed 
away,  and  he  lagged  superfluous  on  the  stage  ;  a  supernu 
merary  with  a  pasteboard  coronet ;  laughed  at  and  ranted 
about  in  the  pantomime  at  which  the  world  had  laughed, 
"  King  Humpty  Dumpty." 

That  afternoon  Maggie  Windsor  had  gone  for  her  usual 
walk  upon  the  Charles  River  embankment,  a  fine  esplanade 
stretching  for  seven  miles  along  the  river-side.  It  was  a 
beautiful  day — one  of  those  rare  days  which  gladden  the 
drear  northern  spring  and  remind  dwellers  in  Boston  that 
they  live  under  the  same  latitude  under  which  Naples 
idles.  A  turn  of  the  Gulf  Stream  and  the  descendants  of 


"FROM  CHAIN  TO    CHAIN."  263 

the  Puritans  would  lose  the  last  vestige  of  their  inherited 
consciences  and  bask  in  the  sun  like  happy  animals.  But 
though  the  sky  was  violet,  the  bright  sunlight  was  cold. 

Maggie  walked  briskly  along,  by  the  water  park,  out  by 
the  great  houses  in  Longwood,  to  the  light  bridge  which 
swept  over  the  river  to  Cambridge.  There  were  but  few 
people  walking  on  the  embankment  this  cold  day ;  a 
stream  of  carriages  bright  with  glistening  harness  rolled  by. 
A  barge,  filled  with  a  merry  party,  and  drawn  by  four 
horses,  aroused  Maggie  from  her  thoughts,  which  had  been 
of  Geoffrey.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  the  evening  of 
the  King's  drawing-room,  when  he  had  broken  his  sword 
before  the  monarch,  and  had  returned  his  empty  title  to 
the  dry  fountain  of  honor.  Her  suspicions  of  him  had 
died  away  long  before  she  had  received  his  letter  by 
Reynolds' s  hand.  She  had  heard  of  the  emeute  with  an 
aching  heart,  and  from  her  distant  home  in  America  she 
had  watched  the  proceedings  of  the  trial  eagerly.  Her  life 
had  died  away  within  her  when  she  read  of  the  sentence  of 
the  prisoners,  and  knew  that  the  man  she  loved  was  shut 
up  from  the  world  for  fifteen  years,  like  a  common  felon. 
And  he  owed  his  liberty  to  her,  and  yet  he  did  not  know 
it.  He  should  have  known  it,  by  instinct,  she  thought. 
She  had  fancied  that  she  knew  the  moment  when  he  had 
made  good  his  escape.  Of  a  sudden,  one  day,  during  her 
father's  absence  in  the  yacht,  the  load  from  her  soul  had 
rolled  away.  She  felt  that  he  was  free,  and  speeding  over 
the  sea  to  meet  her.  Now  that  he  was  arrived  in  America, 
she  had  seen  him  but  once,  and  he  had  not  spoken  to 
her ;  he  had  bowed,  with  a  stern,  set  face,  and  left  the 
apartment.  Had  her  cruel  words  there  on  the  cliff  by 
Ripon  village  cut  away  his  love  for  her  ?  Then  the  mes- 


264  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

sage  which  she  had  sent  to  him  by  his  servant  :  "  Tell 
your  master  that  I  am  to  be  married."  She  had  almost 
forgotten  that.  But  his  heart  should  have  told  him  what 
she  meant  by  that,  she  argued.  "  She  was  to  be  married, 
if  only  he  wished  it."  Why  did  he  not  come  to  her? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  he  thought  she  was  to  marry 
another  ? 

Such  thoughts  the  rush  and  jingle  of  the  great  barge  had 
interrupted.  The  barge  rushed  by,  and  looking  up  the 
strait  she  saw  coming  toward  her,  his  form  dark  against 
the  red  sunset,  Geoffrey  Ripon. 

He  saw  her  at  the  same  moment,  and  he  took  off  his 
hat  She  walked  up  to  him  and  offered  him  her  hand. 

"  Miss  Windsor,  Maggie,"  he  said  as  he  grasped  it. 

"  You  received  my  message?"  she  asked,  looking  into 
his  eyes. 

"I  did.     Is  it  true?" 

' '  I  do  not  know, ' '  she  answered,  looking  down  at  the 
river,  which  gleamed  below  rosy  with  the  sunset ;  a  happy 
omen.  "  It  depends — " 

"  Upon  what?"  asked  Geoffrey,  eagerly. 

"  Upon  you,  Geoffrey,"  she  answered.  "  Did  you  not 
know  it  ?"  And  the  sun,  which  just  then  disappeared  over 
the  Brookline  hills,  did  not  in  his  circuit  of  the  world 
look  upon  a  happier  pair  than  these  two  lovers,  clasped  in 
each  other's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

NULLA   VESTIGIA    RETRORSUM. 

So  they  were  married,  and  the  alliance  between  simple 
hearts  and  Norman  blood  was  complete.  It  came  to  pass 
before  many  months  that  the  millionaire,  pleased,  it  may 
be,  to  find  his  homely  patronymic  transmitted  to  his  grand 
child,  bought  back  Ripon  House  from  the  mortgagees  and 
gave  it  to  his  son-in-law.  Mr.  Windsor  knew  it  was  the 
secret  desire  of  his  daughter  that  Geoffrey  should  return  to 
England  and  devote  himself  to  aiding  his  countrymen  in 
their  struggle  for  liberty.  But  Geoffrey  was  too  content 
with  his  own  happiness  and  too  appalled  by  the  confusion 
which  still  overspread  his  native  land  to  evince  much 
enthusiasm  in  this  regard.  ' '  Wait  a  little,  Maggie, ' '  he 
said,  and  Maggie  was  shrewd  enough  to  understand  that 
this  was  the  better  way  to  attain  her  purpose.  She  remem 
bered  how  her  husband  had  broken  his  sword  and  re 
nounced  fealty  to  the  perjured  King.  Give  Geoffrey  time, 
and  he  would  work  out  his  own  salvation. 

But  while  individuals  wedded  and  were  happy  and  begat 
children,  and  while  patient  women  tarried  for  God's  word 
to  awaken  in  their  lovers'  hearts,  the  great  world,  which  is 
never  happy  and  which  never  waits,  rolled  on  remorse 
lessly.  England  still  knew  perilous  days,  but  the  hope  of 


266  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

better  things  to  come  glimmered  through  the  mists  of  evil 
rule. 

The  bulwark  of  the  nation's  safety  in  that  hazardous 
time,  as  history  well  knows,  was  Richard  Lincoln  ;  and 
though  we  who  have  faith  that  God  is  ever  working  for 
man's  good,  know  that  human  nature  must  in  the  end 
evolve  into  higher  grades  of  truth  and  power,  and  that  even 
the  sublimest  soul  is  but  a  cipher  in  the  eternal  scale  ;  yet 
England  had  need  of  a  rare  spirit  in  that  time  of  her  sore 
distress  to  save  her  from  the  rocks  of  revolution  and  an 
archy.  She  found  this  in  Richard  Lincoln,  whose  name 
will  be  ever  famous  in  the  gratitude  of  his  countrymen. 

In  strange  contrast  to  the  career  of  which  we  have  just 
been  speaking  stands  out  the  final  pageant  of  the  once 
splendid  court  of  Britain.  George  the  Fifth  died,  leaving 
no  son  to  inherit  his  foibles  and  his  title.  The  House  of 
Hanover  was  shorn  of  male  heirs  in  the  nick  of  time,  for 
it  is  doubtful  if  the  populace  would  have  permitted  exiled 
royalty  to  indulge  in  the  mimicry  of  another  dynasty. 
But  for  the  purposes  of  our  story  the  King  is  still  alive, 
since  his  death  took  place,  as  many  of  us  know,  in  his 
eightieth  year.  There  were  but  few  of  those  whose  vicis 
situdes  we  have  followed  able  to  tell  the  tale  when  the  last 
Hanoverian,  tenacious  of  vital  breath  as  he  had  been  of 
everything  else,  descended  to  his  fathers.  Le  rot  est  mort, 
but  the  old  world  cry,  "  Long -live  the  king,"  is  silent  for 
ever. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  keenest  strokes  at  the  self-esteem  of 
the  unfortunate  monarch  was  the  matrimonial  apostasy  of 
his  daughter.  The  Princess  Henrietta,  contrary  to  the 
long-cherished  traditions  of  her  race,  wedded  in  her  thir 
teenth  year  a  commoner,  as  it  was  described  at  court.  She 


NULL  A    VESTIGIA  RETRORSUM.  267 

became  the  wife  of  L.  Pierson  Dana,  a  prominent  dealer  in 
hides  and  leather,  and  a  man  of  culture  and  standing  in  the 
community.  King  George,  with  a  senile  confusing  of  terms, 
always  insisted  on  speaking  of  the  marriage  as  morganatic. 

Concerning  those  who  composed  his  court  little  remains 
to  be  said.  The  Duke  of  Bayswater  was  joined  by  his  wife 
shortly  after  his  escape  to  America.  They  never  returned 
to  their  native  country,  but  lived  very  exclusively  in  apart 
ments  near  to  the  royal  suite. 

Colonel  Featherstone,  lured  by  hopes  of  fortune,  organ 
ized  a  successful  corner  in  lard,  and  invested  the  proceeds 
in  a  vineyard  in  California.  The  famous  blue  seal  dry 
Hanover,  which  is  even  to-day  regarded  by  connoisseurs  as 
a  grand  vin,  is  a  monument  to  his  reverence  for  royalty  as 
well  as  to  his  talent  as  a  vine-dresser. 

One  day  in  late  November,  when  little  Abraham  was 
about  five  years  old,  signs  of  great  activity  were  noticeable 
about  Ripon  House.  For  a  week  past  the  environs  had 
been  rife  with  rumors  concerning  the  return  of  Geoffrey  to 
the  house  of  his  ancestors  and  the  wealth  which  had  accrued 
to  him  through  his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  the  rich 
American  who  had  once  rented  the  manor-house.  London 
mechanics  had  been  repairing  and  furnishing  the  old-fash 
ioned  pile,  striving  withal  to  retain  the  flavor  of  antiquity 
which  hung  about  its  towers.  There  had  been  employ 
ment,  too,  for  the  artisans  of  the  neighborhood,  and  even 
to-day,  when  the  guests  were  to  arrive  before  sunset,  a 
bevy  of  the  people  were  running  hither  and  thither  at  the 
bidding  of  an  old  man  with  white  hair  and  bent  figure. 
He  was  evidently  merely  an  upper  servant,  but  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face  betokened  one  whose  joy  and  sorrow  are 
an  echo  of  his  master's  fortune. 


268  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

A  few  hours  later  a  carriage  drew  up  before  the  thresh 
old.  A  young  man  leaped  to  the  ground  and  grasped 
with  both  of  his  the  hand  of  the  aged  servitor. 

"  How  are  you,  Reynolds  ?" 

"  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Ripon  ;  God  bless  you." 

* '  And  here  is  my  wife,  Reynolds.  You  remember 
her." 

The  old  man  doffed  his  hat  with  a  respectful  formality. 
It  was  still  a  little  against  his  grain  to  see  an  American  his 
master's  bride.  "  Welcome  to  Ripon  House." 

Maggie  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  her  father's  banter 
ing  voice  now  startled  his  dignified  mood. 

"  So  this  is  where  you  have  been  hiding  all  these  years, 
Reynolds  ?  You  look  like  the  wandering  Arab,  with  your 
gray  beard  ! ' ' 

Mr.  Windsor  doubtless  referred  to  the  Wandering  Jew, 
but  he  was  no  scholar,  as  he  would  himself  have  been  the 
first  to  acknowledge.  All  laughed  at  the  mistake,  and 
none  louder  than  the  fourth  member  of  the  party,  a  tall, 
middle-aged  man,  with  a  noble  but  genial  countenance. 

It  was  Richard  Lincoln,  to  whom  time  had  been  gener 
ous  during  the  six  years  which  had  flown  since  he  was  last 
at  Ripon  House.  Despite  the  cares  which  had  weighed 
upon  his  spirit,  his  brow  was  scarcely  furrowed.  He  had 
come  to  be  Geoffrey's  guest  for  a  few  days  and  enjoy  the 
tranquillity  of  the  country.  There  were  business  matters 
also  to  be  talked  over  with  his  friend,  for  Geoffrey  had 
promised  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  public  service  of  the 
country. 

The  friends  sat  long  that  evening  around  the  dinner- 
table.  There  was  much  pleasant  talk,  but  every  face  wore 
a  thoughtful  look.  The  intervening  time  since  last  they 


NULLA    VESTIGIA  RETRORSUM.  269 

had  gathered  here  was  too  full  of  incident  to  be  passed  over 
lightly.  Recollection  stood  beside  the  hearth,  and  yet  with 
a  finger  on  the  lips,  as  though  loath  to  jar  the  atmosphere 
of  revery  with  a  word.  And  yet  there  were  references 
made  to  the  past.  Lincoln  asked  what  had  become  of  that 
strange  man  Jawkins.  But  no  one  knew  further  than  that 
he  had  fled  with  the  splendid  beauty. 

"Is  that  woman's  husband  still  living?"  inquired 
Maggie. 

All  shook  their  heads  in  doubt. 

' '  And  dear  old  Sydney,  do  you  know  anything  of  him, 
Richard?"  said  Ripon. 

11  Yes,  Only  a  few  weeks  since  he  married  an  attractive 
little  widow  with  a  snug  property.  I  had  him  pardoned, 
you  may  remember,  among  my  first  acts  as  Prime  Minis 
ter.  Prison  life  seemed  to  have  agreed  with  him.  He 
had  lost  his  dyspeptic  air. ' ' 

11  That  old  scoundrel  Bugbee  had  a  curious  end,  "  ob 
served  Mr.  Windsor.  "  To  think  of  being  bitten  to  death 
by  a  tarantula.  Ugh  !  It  seems  he  used  to  keep  spiders 
under  glass  in  his  apartments,  and  this  was  one  that 
escaped.  And  what  an  enormous  fortune  he  left  ! ' ' 

So  the  conversation  proceeded,  and  by  and  by  they  all 
adjourned  to  the  library,  where  a  wood-fire  lighted  up  the 
huge  fireplace.  Richard  Lincoln  seated  himself  in  a  deep 
arm-chair  beside  the  hearth,  and  rather  avoiding  talk  gazed 
at  the  sizzling  logs.  His  own  thoughts  sufficed  him. 
Maggie,  whose  seat  was  next  to  his,  watched  his  expres 
sion,  where  a  shade  of  sadness  lingered  when  his  attention 
was  not  engrossed  by  others.  At  a  moment  that  Geoffrey 
and  her  father  were  out  of  the  room  she  leaned  forward 
and  said  : 


270  THE  KING'S  MEN. 

"  Where  is  she  buried  ?" 

1 '  They  sleep  side  by  side, ' '  was  the  quiet  response. 
* '  Their  love  to-day  laughs  alike  at  peasant  and  at  noble. 
I  try  to  think  of  it  as  a  symbol  of  what  is  to  be, ' '  he  con 
tinued.  "  Theirs  is  the  first  alliance  in  that  reconciliation 
between  the  few  and  the  many  on  which  the  hopes  of  pos 
terity  depend." 

THE    END. 


A  New  Story  by  the  Author  of  "  Guerndale. 


THE    CRIME    OF 

HENRY  VANE 

BY  "J.  S.  OF  DALE." 


1  Volume,  12mo,    -     -     $1. 


Henry  Vane  "  is  a  study  of  American  life.  It  is  worth  while 
to  note,  in  the  midst  of  the  present  flood  of  literature 
dealing  with  the  inexhaustible  problem  of  the  American 
girl,  that  here  is  a  different  phase  of  the  American  girl 
from  any  that  is  familiar — a  more  serious  one,  if  not  one 
that  every  reader  will  be  willing  to  accept  as  true.  The 
story  is  told  with  the  vivid  and  strong  simplicity  that  has 
been  a  distinguishing  trait  of  the  author's  power ;  and 
while  the  plot  contains  a  great  surprise,  none  of  the  force 
of  the  narrative  is  sacrificed  merely  to  this. 


%,*  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS, 

743  and  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


STORIES  BY  AMERICAN  AUTHORS. 

Bound  in  Cloth,  5O  cents  per  Volume. 


"The  American  short  story  has  a  distinct  artistic  quality.  It  has 
the  directness  of  narrative  and  careful  detail  of  the  hest  French  nov 
elettes,  with  an  added  flexibility  that  is  peculiar  to  itself.  It  has 
humor,  too.  Each  one  of  the  tales  is  a  masterpiece,  and,  taken 
together,  they  afford  delightful  entertainment  for  leisure  half  hours. 
All  may  be  read  more  than  once."— Boston  Traveler. 


THE  FIRST  VOLUME  CONTAINS: 

Who  Was  She  ?  ...  By  BAYAKD  TAYLOR. 
The  Documents  in  the  Case.  By  BBANDEB  MATTHEWS 

and  H.  C.  BUNKER. 

One  of  the  Thirty  Pieces.  .  .  By  W.  H.  BISHOP. 
Balacchi  Brothers.  .  By  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS. 
An  Operation  in  Money.  .  By  ALBEBT  WEBSTEB. 

THE  SECOND  VOLUME  CONTAINS: 

The  Transferred  Ghost.  .  By  FBANK  R.  STOCKTON. 
A  Martyr  to  Science.  By  MABY  PUTNAM  JACOBI,  M.D. 
Mrs.  Knollys.  .  .  By  the  Author  of  "Guerndale." 

A  Dinner-Party By  JOHN  EDDY. 

The  Mount  of  Sorrow. 

By  HABBIETT  PBESCOTT  SPOPFOBD. 
Sister  Silvia.      ...       By  MABY  AGNES  TINCKEB. 


For  sale  by  att  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of 
price,  by 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  Publishers, 
743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


STORIES  BY  AMERICAN  AUTHORS. 


THE    THIRD    VOLUME    CONTAINS: 

The  Spider's  Eye.       .  By  LTJCRETIA  P.  HALB. 

A  Story  of  the  Latin  Quarter. 

By  Mrs.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT. 
Two  Purse  Companions.  By  GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 
Poor  Ogla-Moga.  ...  By  DAVID  D.  LLOYD. 
A  Memorable  Murder.  .  .  By  CELIA  THAXTER. 
Venetian  Glass.  .  .  By  BRANDER  MATTHEWS. 

THE    FOURTH    VOLUME    CONTAINS: 

Miss  Grief.  .  By  CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSON. 
Love  in  Old  Cloathes.  .  .  .  By  H.  C.  BUNNER. 
Two  Buckets  in  a  Well.  .  .  .  By  N.  P.  WILLIS. 
Friend  Barton's  Concern.  .  By  MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE. 
An  Inspired  Lobbyist.  .  .  By  J.  W.  DE  FOREST. 
Lost  in  the  Fog.  ,  .  .  By  NOAH  BROOKS. 

THE  FIFTH    VOLUME    CONTAINS: 

A  Light  Man.    ....     .  .    .    By  HENRY  JAMES. 

Yatil .        By  F.  D.  MILLET. 

The  End  of  New  York.    .        .  By  PARK  BENJAMIN. 

Why  Thomas  was  Discharged.  .  By  GEORGE  ARNOLD. 

The  Tachypomp.        .        .        .  By  E.  P.  MITCHELL, 


For  sale  ~by  all  5oo7cseWers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of 
price,  2>y 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  Publishers, 
743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


A  NEW  BOOK  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  RUDDER  GRANGE." 

THE   LADY  OR  THE  TIGER. 


One  volume,  12mo,  cloth,  $1.0O. 


No  magazine  story  for  a  very  long  time  has  given  rise  to  such  animated 
discussion  as  Mr.  Stockton's  enigmatical  situation,  "  7/5<?  Lady  or  the 
Tiger."  " His  Wife's  Deceased  Sister,"  "The  Transferred  Ghost," 
"That  Same  Old  Coon,"  "  Mr.  Tolman,"  "  The  Training  of  Parents," 
and  the  other  stories  which  make  rip  this  collection  are  equally  remarkable 
for  their  novelty,  surprise  of  plot,  and  cleverness. 

"  The  singular  originality  and  the  whimsical  humor  of  Mr. 
Frank  R.  Stockton's  work  have  never  been  shown  to  better  ad 
vantage  than  in  his  ingenious  conceit  called  *  The  Lady  or  the 
Tiger '  which  was  published  a  year  or  two  ago  in  the  Century, 
and  which  now  gives  its  title  to  a  collection  of  this  author's  short 
stories  just  published  by  the  Scribners.  It  was  the  success  of  this 
story  probably,  which  brought  upon  the  author  some  share  of  the 
woes  described  in  'His  Wife's  Deceased  Sister,'  which  is  also 
included  in  this  collection.  Mr.  Stockton's  humor  is  at  once 
subtle  and  free  from  the  vice  of  obscurity  which  usually  accom 
panies  subtlety  in  a  jest.  It  is  pure,  too,  and  wholly  unforced.  It 
bubbles  up  like  a  cool  spring  and  overflows  its  banks,  irrigating  the 
surrounding  literary  soil  and  making  it  fertile  in  other  things  than 
mere  amusement.  Its  spontaneity  and  its  gentleness  are  Elia-like, 
and  the  reader  who  desires  a  book  at  once  amusing  and  restful, 
cannot  do  better  than  put  this  little  collection  of  stories  in  his 
vacation  satchel." — Commercial  Advertiser. 


*#*  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,   upon  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS,    Publishers, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


RUDDER   GRANGE. 

By  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON. 


One  Volume,   IGmo,  Paper,  6O  cents*    Cloth,  $1.25. 


"  The  charm  of  these  nearly  perfect  stories  lies  in  their  exquisite 
simplicity  and  most  tender  humor." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  Humor  like  this  is  perennial." —  Washington  Post. 

"A  certain  humorous  seriousness  over  matters  that  are  not  serious 
surrounds  the  story,  even  in  its  most  indifferent  parts,  with  an  atmos 
phere,  an  aroma  of  very  quaint  and  delightful  humor." — N.  Y.  Even 
ing  Post. 

"The  odd  conceit  of  making  his  young  couple  try  their  hands  at 
house-keeping  first  in  an  old  canal  boat,  suggests  many  droll  situations, 
which  the  author  improves  with  a  frolicsome  humor  that  is  all  his 
own." — Worcester  Spy. 

"  There  is  in  these  chapters  a  rare  and  captivating  drollery. 
We  have  had  more  pleasure  in  reading  them  over  again  than  we  had 
when  they  first  appeared  in  the  magazine." — Congregationalist. 


SAXE  HOLJVTS  STORIES. 

These  stories  are  unique  in  recent  literature  for  their  intensity,  their 
fascination,  their  thorough  knowledge  of  the  h^^•man  heart,  and  the 
marvelous  powers  of  description  which  they  display.  The  gems  of  poetry 
scattered  through  their  beautiful  and  subtile  fabric  constitute  one  of  their 
most  interesting  and  attractive  characteristics. 

FIRST  SERIES. 

"  Draxy  Miller's  Dowry,"  "  The  Elder's  Wife," 

"  Whose  Wife  Was  She  ?  "  "  The  One-Legged  Dancers." 

"  How  One  Woman  Kept  Her  Husband," 
"  Esther  Wynn's  Love  Letters." 


One  Vol.,12mo,  Cloth,  -  -  $1.&O. 

SECOND    SERIES. 

"  The  Four-Leaved  Clover,"  "  My  Tourmaline," 

"Farmer  Bassett's  Romance,"          "Joe  Hale's  Red  Stockings," 
"  Susan  Lawton's  Escape." 

One  Vol.,  12mo,  Cloth,  -  $1.5O 

*£*  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  pri^*,  by 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,  Publishers, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


EDWARD  EGGLESTON'S  NOVELS. 


•Mr.  Eggleston  is  one  of  the  very  few  American  novelists  who  havt 
succeeded  in  giving  to  their  works  a  genuine  savor  of  the  soil,  a  dis 
tinctively  American  character.  His  "RoXY,"  "  HOOSIER  SCHOOL 
MASTER,"  "  CIRCUIT  RIDER,"  and  the  restore  home-spun  and  native  in 
all  their  features.  The  scene  of  the  stories  if  the  Western  Reserve,  and 
the  characters  are  types  of  the  pioneers  in  the  territory  now  comprised  in 
Indiana  and  Ohio. 

ROXY.  One  vol.,  I2mo,  cloth,  with  twelve  full-page  illustrations  from 
original  designs  by  WALTER  SHIRLAW.  Price,  $1.50. 

"  One  of  the  ablest  of  recent  American  novels,  and  indeed  in  all 
recent  works  of  fiction." — The  London  Spectator. 

THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER.  A  Tale  of  the  Heroic  Age.  One 
vol.,  I2mo,  extra  cloth,  illustrated  with  over  thirty  characteristic 
drawings  by  G.  G.  WHITE  and  SOL.  EYTINGE.  Price,  $1.50. 

"The  best  American  story,  and  the  most  thoroughly  American  one 
that  has  appeared  for  years." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOLMASTER.    Illustrated.    i2mo.   Price, 

$1.25. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  METROPOLISVILLE.  Illustrated. 
I2mo.  Price,  $1.50. 

THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD.  A  Love  Story.  Illustrated. 
I2mo.  Price,  $i  50 

COMPLETE  SETS  (IN  BOX)  $7.25. 

THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOL  BOY.  With  full-page  illustrations. 
I2mo.  Price,  $1.00. 

THE  HOOSIER  SCHOOL  BOY,  as  its  title  shows,  depicts  some  of  the 
characters  of  boy  life,  years  ago,  on  the  Ohio ;  characteristics,  how 
ever,  that  were  not  peculiar  to  that  section  only.  The  story  presents 
a  vivid  and  interesting  picture  of  the  difficulties  which  in  those  days 
beset  the  path  of  the  youth  aspiring  for  an  education. 


3f* 'For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS,   Publishers, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


DR.  J.  G.  HOLLAND'S  POPULAR  NOVELS. 


Each  one  volume,  16mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 


"  To  those  who  love  a  pure  diction,  a  healthful  tone,  and  thought  that 
leads  tip  to  higher  and  belter  aims,  that  gives  brighter  color  to  some 
of  the  hard,  dull  phases  of  life,  that  awakens  the  mind  to  renewed 
activity,  and  makes  one  mentally  better,  the  prose  and  poetical  works 
cf  Dr.  Holland  will  prove  an  ever  new,  ever  welcome  source  from  which 
io  draw." — NEW  HAVEN  PALLADIUM. 


NICHOLAS  MINTURN.     A  Study  in  a  Story. 

"Nicholas  Minturn  is  the  most  real  novel,  or  rather  life-story, 
yet  produced  by  any  American  writer." — Philadelphia  Press. 

SEVENOAKS.     A  Story  of  To-Day. 

"  As  a  story,  it  is  thoroughly  readable ;  the  action  is  rapid,  but  not 
hurried;  there  is  no  flagging,  and  no  dullness." — Christian  Union. 

ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE.     A  Story  of  American  Life. 

"  The  narrative  is  pervaded  by  a  fine  poetical  spirit  that  is  alive  to 
the  subtle  graces  of  character,  as  well  as  to  the  tender  influences  of 
natural  scenes.  ...  Its  chief  merits  must  be  placed  in  its  graphic 
and  expressive  portraitures  of  character,  its  tenderness  and  delicacy 
of  sentiment,  its  touches  of  heartfelt  pathos,  and  the  admirable  wis 
dom  and  soundness  of  its  ethical  suggestions." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

THE  BAY  PATH.     A  Tale  of  New  England  Colonial  Life. 

"A  conscientious  and  careful  historical  picture  of  early  New  Eng 
land  days,  and  will  well  repay  perusal." — Boston  Sat.  Eve.  Gazette* 

MISS  GILBERT'S  CAREER.     An  American  Story. 

The  life  and  incidents  are  taken  in  about  equal  proportions  from 
the  city  and  country — the  commercial  metropolis  and  a  New  Hamp 
shire  village.  It  is  said  that  the  author  has  drawn  upon  his  own 
early  experiences  and  history  for  a  large  part  of  the  narrative. 


* F°r  sa^e  ty  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  by 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers, 
743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETTS  NOVELS. 


THAT  LASS  O'  LOWRIE'S.     One  vol.,  I2mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 
$1.50;  paper,  90  cents. 

"  We  know  of  no  more  powerful  work  from  a  woman's  hand  in  the 
English  language." — Boston  J^ranscript. 

"The  best  original  novel  that   has  appeared  in  this  country  for 
many  years." — Phil.  Press. 


HAWORTH'S.     One  vol.,  I2mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

"  Haworth's  is  a  product  of  genius  of  a  very  high  order." — N.   Y. 
Evening  Post. 

"It  is  but  faint  praise  to  speak  of  HAWORTH'S  as  merely  a  good 
novel.     It  is  one  of  the  few  great  novels." — Hartford  Courant. 


LOUISIANA.     One  vol.,  I2mo,  illustrated,  $1.00. 

"  We  commend  this  book  as  the  product  of  a  skillful,  talented, 
well-trained  pen.  Mrs.  Burnett's  admirers  are  already  numbered  by 
the  thousand,  and  every  new  work  like  this  one  can  only  add  to  their 
number." — Chicago  Tribune. 


EARLIER  STORIES.     Each,  one  vol.,  i6mo,  paper. 
Pretty  Polly  Pemberton.     Kathleen.     Each,  40  cents. 

Lindsay's  Luck.     Theo.     Miss  Crespigny.     Each,  30  cents. 

"Each  of  these  narratives  has  a  distinct  spirit,  and  can  be  profit 
ably  read  by  all  classes  of  people.  They  are  told  not  only  with  true 
art,  but  deep  pathos." — Boston  Post. 


*#*  For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  by 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS,  Publishers, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


GEORGE  W.  CABLE'S  NOVELS. 


1 '  I  have  read  all  thy  stories  and  like  them  very  much.  Thee  has 
found  an  untrodden  field  of  romance  in  New  Orleans ;  and  I  think 
thee  the  writer  whom  we  have  so  long  waited  to  see  come  up  in 
the  South."—  The  Poet  Whittier  to  Mr.  Cable. 

THE  GRANDISSIMES.  A  Story  of  Creole  Life.  With  a 
frontispiece,  "THE  CABILDO'OF  1883."  One  vol.,  I2mo. 
Price  reduced  to  $1.25. 

OLD  CREOLE  DAYS.  With  a  frontispiece,  "THE  CAFE  DBS 
EXILES."  One  vol.,  I2mo,  uniform  with  The  Grandissimes^ 
$1.25. 

Popular  Edition  of  Old  Creole  Days.  Two  Series,  sold  separately, 
30  cents  each.  The  same  in  cloth,  gilt  top,  with  frontispieces, 
75  cents  each. 

"Here  is  true  art  at  work.  Here  is  poetry,  pathos,  tragedy, 
humor.  Here  is  an  entrancing  style.  Here  is  a  new  field,  one 
full  of  passion  and  beauty.  Here  is  a  local  color,  with  strong  draw 
ing.  Here,  in  this  little  volume,  is  life,  breath,  and  blood.  The 
author  of  this  book  is  an  artist,  and  over  such  a  revelation  one  may 
be  permitted  strong  words." — Cincinnati  Times. 


NEWPORT. 

By  GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 

i  vol.,  I2mo.     Price, •       $1.25 

"This  is  undoubtedly  the  best  picture  of  Newport  life  that 
has  been  given,  not  only  for  its  characteristic  amusements, 
customs,  and  individualities,  but  also  its  mental,  moral,  and 
social  atmosphere." — Boston  Globe. 


*.* 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  «r  sent,  postpaid,  upon  receipt  of  price  by 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers, 

743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


GUERNDALE. 

BY  J.  S.,  OF  DALE. 
1  Vol.,  12mo,  Paper,  5O  cents;    Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  GUERNDALE  will  at  once  take  rank  as  one  of  the  cleverest  and 
best  written  works  of  fiction  of  the  year." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"•It  has  thought,  vigor  and  passion,  and  has  not  a  drowsy  page 
between  the  covers." — N.  Y.  Home  Journal. 

"After  endless  novels  of  culture,  here  is  a  novel  of  power;  after  a 
flood  of  social  analysis  and  portraiture,  here  is  a  story  of  genuine 
passion  and  of  very  considerable  insight  of  the  deeper  sort." — Christian 
Union. 

u  The  plot  of  the  story,  or  rather  of  the  romance,  for  no  other 
name  properly  describes  it,  is  full  of  delicacy  and  beauty.  .  .  The 
author  has  given  us  a  story  such  as  we  have  not  had  in  this  country 
since  the  time  of  Hawthorne." — Boston  Advertiser. 


CUPID,  M.D.    A  STORY. 

BY  AUGUSTUS  M.  SWIFT.  » 

One  Vol.,  12mo,         -  $1.0O. 

"  It  is  an  extremely  simple  story,  with  a  great  and  moving  dramatic 
struggle  in  the  heart  of  it." — The  Independent. 

"  The  subject  is  delicately  as  well  as  effectively  handled,  with  a 
light  and  firm  touch,  a  certain  easy  grace  of  manner,  and  an  abund 
ance  of  interesting  pathological  detail." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


AN  HONORABLE  SURRENDER. 

BY  MARY  ADAMS. 
One  Vol.,  12mo,       -----       $1.OO. 

"  The  story  belongs  distinctly  to  the  realistic  school  of  modern 
fiction.  The  situations  are  those  of  every  day.  The  characters  are 
not  in  the  least  eccentric ;  the  dialogue  is  never  extravagant ;  the 
descriptive  and  analytical  passages  are  neither  obtrusive  nor  too  pro 
lix.  The  sum  of  all  these  negations  is  a  charming  book,  full  of  a 
genuine  human  interest." — Portland  Weekly  Advertiser. 


* 'For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post-paid,  upon  receipt  of  price,  by 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers, 
743  AND  745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


£22163 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


